Physics
by AmeliaFaulks
Summary: No Krypton, superheroes, supervillains, or Superman. But there is a Lois and Clark.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** hello everyone, I've been poking around, back-burnering this story for the last year or so. It's kind of an Elseworlds that plays fast and loose with bits and pieces of the mythology to suit my own evil ends; it's not set in any one Super-verse. Mainly, I ask you to settle back and roll with me.

The story's in four parts. I hope it was worth the wait and, as ever, that you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing :).

**Disclaimer:** these characters belong to DC, not me. (If this fic were a movie, this is where that cool DC Comics logo would come rushing past us with the swooshy pixels and stuff.)

* * *

**Physics**

**-Chapter One-**

Sitting still and killing time were not her strongest suits, it was true. The situation was made doubly worse because her colleague had no game-face and lacked the facility for a proportional response. In fact he had the nervous habit of clamming up entirely, believing the surest safeguard against saying the wrong thing was not to say anything at all.

They were in a long, lonely corridor, just outside one of the smaller hearing rooms in the criminal courts building. She was leaning forward, perched on the edge of a plastic chair, high heels and toes flat on the ground, elbows resting on her knees with her fingers dangling loosely together. They had met out on the steps earlier when he had self-consciously avoided small talk and conversation had been hard to come by since.

She tilted her head to look behind her, watching as he fiddled with the aperture settings on his camera. She sighed, releasing the breath steadily out through her nostrils. Unable to face a third straight hour of the same she decided it was time for an act of mercy.

She lent back and unclasped her hands. "Jimmy, it's okay." Her smile aimed for reassuring, "You don't have to protect my feelings. We can talk about it."

Jimmy's whole body sagged in relief, but in a second he was tense again, a look of earnest concern puckering his face; "Because I know how much those awards mean to you, Miss Lane."

"Yes. Well." The flat of her hand skimmed along the top of her left pant leg and off the knee in one elegant, dismissive, stroke. "It's a piece of paper. Not the end of the world." Her lips rolled inwards.

Jimmy was thoughtful. "At least, I guess you were prepared."

She frowned. Jimmy added, "I mean, there's no shame in losing to a guy like that, right?"

Her gaze zeroed in on him, all traces of magnanimity suddenly gone. "A guy like what?"

"You know," he tried. "Like a war hero?"

Lois looked at him, unmoved. "He's a newspaper reporter. Just like you and me."

But Jimmy's gaze was already elsewhere, off in the distance. There was not a cynical bone in his body, and there was a wistful, impressed expression on his face when he said, "Getting shot, though- it kind of blows the competition away." His eyebrows raised. "Literally."

In normal circumstances Lois was careful to keep her own prejudices from clouding over the sunshine of Jimmy's world-view. Here, tightly, she managed, "Stunt journalism has its place, that's for sure."

"I don't know if I could ever be that brave."

With the edge now out of her voice, she told him, "There's more than one kind of bravery, Jimmy."

The young man nodded.

"And anyway." Lois cleared her throat. "I prefer not to view it strictly in terms of winning _or_ losing. To be shortlisted at all-" there was a deliberate pause while she dipped her head to him; "for the fifth year running." She unveiled a cover girl smile that dimpled her cheeks, "I think that's the important thing." She nearly winked, but, in the end, restrained herself.

There was a respectful moment of silence. "I read they're going to give him the Zahiri-Khan Medal for Gallantry. It's like the highest honor the government can bestow on a foreign national."

Lois' smile hardened in place. "Well. Let's hope the NPAs aren't too much of a come-down for him." She folded her arms and went back to staring at the wall.

...

A large one-sided sheet of paper was held taut between Perry White's fingers. With the phone wedged between his shoulder and ear he scrutinized tomorrow's front page while he listened to his night editor on the end of the line. He checked his watch, "In that case you'll have to cut it. Bump the track cartel story, and you better get me Simmonds on the phone." He rolled his eyes as he set the page down back on the desk, "That's why I want to talk to him!"

He replaced the handset heavily as Lois Lane came into view on the far side of an emptied bullpen. He nodded and she gave him a tired little salute before she made it to his door and came inside.

"Fun day?"

A deadpan smile appeared as she reached across the desk, "Oh, like you wouldn't believe." She handed over several pages of copy. "My notes on a scandal."

Perry began reading through them. "Olsen?"

"I let him go once we were done."

"He get anything?"

One eyebrow arched, "A rather fetching shot of Judge McQuerry leaving court." Pointing to her face she added, "Right is definitely His Honor's best side."

Perry's brow furrowed as he read. "Which way's the wind blowing?"

Lois lifted a shoulder, "This one's going to run and run. No one wants to go on record. Off the record, they're like talk-radio hosts on crack, you can't shut them up. We spoke to both sides and the stuff they've got prepped- it fills warehouses; litigation, counter-litigation, lists of depositions, motions to dismiss." She shook her head, "It's enough to make you weep."

"The justice system at work," Perry mumbled.

"Legal system," she corrected automatically, and Perry sniffed, smiling at their well-honed little double-act.

He shuffled her papers together and handed them back. "It's your call."

She nodded once. "I'm going to push a pin in it. I had some fresh leads on the Forest Hills redevelopment come through today. I'd like to follow them up. See if I can make any headway."

"Do it."

She gave another quick nod and turned to leave.

"Lois."

Lois stepped back and for a moment they simply watched each other.

Carefully, Perry said, "I believe congratulations are in order?"

Her expression remained blank. "Are they?"

From his desk drawer Perry produced an official-looking letter. He laid it in front of him where they both could see it. Lois already knew what it was. Hers was folded away in her coat pocket. "You received your invitation from the Press Association this morning?"

Lois touched her lips together as if deciding whether to answer. Finally, "Yes."

"Then, congratulations."

Her head dropped and Perry watched her shoulders move and settle as a deep breath was taken and then exhaled. When Lois looked up again, it was to jab one finger at him, "I can take it from everyone else, okay? But please, _spare me_."

He leaned back making his chair squeak, "Lois-"

"I didn't win- big deal!" she cut him off. "For next year, I'll be sure to tackle an armed mugger, or single-handedly foil a bank robbery, or," an arm flapped, "commandeer a tank and storm an enemy post, or something. It seems to do the trick."

Perry began moving the letter and other items around on his desk. "You're still a little upset. It's understandable."

"I'm not upset," Lois clarified, immediately. "I'm _disappointed_. If I had known the board were so easily dazzled, I wouldn't have wasted all that time at welfare shelters and rehab drop-ins in a clearly pointless exercise in issue-driven journalism."

"It was a great submission, kid. You know as well as I do, embeds will always be looked on favorably by the judging panel."

Her hands went up in reassurance, "Perry, I got it. Forget about moral obligations, responsible social commentary, the fact that there's an underclass in this city on a scale not seen since the thirties," she pointed, beyond Perry, out to the lights of Metropolis; "what the judges really want to read about is Edward Murrow crashing through a plate glass window with a red rambo band on his head."

Perry grimaced. "Okay, well, now I think you're being a little unfair."

With one hand on her hip, Lois rolled her shoulders irritably, "I don't know why we're even having this conversation,"

"-Don't go there, Lois," Perry growled.

"when we both know the cognoscenti on that board would rather do the funky chicken dressed up as Big Bird_,_ than honor the Planet over the Gazette."

"You know that's not true."

Lois snorted. "C'mon, Chief. Gotham has big money, big ideas, and political credibility. And we have Lex Luthor playing lawsuit dodgeball while Rome burns." Fired up, Lois glared, "And when I get my way, things will change, but until that happens, Metropolis will always be treated like the ugly stepsister- but no one would ever admit it. No one wants to get their hands dirty."

At first Perry said nothing. "I thought you liked him." His eyes lifted to meet hers. "This Kent guy."

"I do." She shifted on her feet. "Generally." A vague circular motion with her hand was directed at the invitation, "It's this particular piece I have a problem with."

"You liked this piece. You championed this piece. You're the one that showed it to me in the first place."

"That was before it beat me out of my award."

Her editor smiled. "It was a good piece. The man can write. Sometimes you have to hold up your hands and appreciate raw talent. I understand because I'm used to doing it."

Lois looked up chewing the edge of her teeth before allowing a begrudging smile to eke out. She knew she was being worked but Perry was such a pro.

"Four straight wins, and now a highly commended. That's a damn fine record. You should be proud. Not many people can say that- in an entire career."

She nodded.

Perry picked up the invitation. "And this is not just about you. It's for the Planet. We can go, drink some champagne. Have a nice night." Without looking at her, his bottom lip curled, "You and Mr Kent can, uh, get acquainted."

His change in tone caught her attention. She read his face and, exasperated, she looked to the ceiling, "Oh for God's sakes, Perry."

He tried looking innocent again but didn't really make it and gave up all together.

"Have we really not moved beyond the honey-trap as our primary recruitment technique?"

Perry came forward in his chair and planted an elbow, "Let me tell you something, Lois. Everyone's gunning for this guy right now. With salary packages that make my operational budget look like Jimmy's pocket change." He narrowed his eyes at her; "And I know for a fact that no one on the Post, or the Times, OR the Gazette's newsdesk looks as good in a cocktail dress as you do."

Lois put one hand to her chest and spoke with wide-eyed sincerity, "Well, thankyou, Mr White. It warms the cockles of my heart to know I'm considered such a multifaceted asset to this newspaper."

Perry was unimpressed. "I'd take your indignation more seriously if we both didn't know that a)," he stuck his thumb out, "you're the best journalist I've ever worked with, b), I hold you in the highest professional regard that that opinion accords, and c), everything I just said, including about the cocktail dress, is true."

"Fine," Lois said. She sniffed. "Where would you put him?"

Perry nodded once, "In the bullpen."

"He's a war reporter."

An eyebrow twitched, "He'd fit in well on the city beat, don't you think?"

She looked offended. "Is that a joke?"

"I think this town's big enough for the both of you."

Her laugh was unamused. "Together?"

"When you write, you're unapologetic, aggressive, engaged." He picked up the invitation, pointed to where their names appeared on the shortlist. "This guy's the same. But more cerebral, spare, uncompromising. You write in poetry and he writes in prose." Perry shrugged, feeling his assessment was so obvious as to be barely worth making; "I think you'd work well with each other."

"I don't work _with_ anybody."

"Complimentary styles."

"The only complimentary styles I care about go; headline, byline." Lois blinked. "In that order."

Perry had picked up the proof sheet and was rotating his hand in an uninterested royal wave, "I'm sure you'll have a fun time discussing your personal philosophies with your colleagues and fellow peers at the dinner."

Lois drew out a sigh. "I got my invitation. And I am proud," she admitted, "but I'm not going to be at the dinner this year. I can't go."

"Why not?"

"I have a prior engagement."

Perry raised his eyes to her, "What prior engagement?"

"My aunt's throwing a party the same night."

Obviously missing something, Perry's brow lowered. "So?"

"So." Lois repeated, peevishly. "I'm double-booked, and I can't go." Explaining, she pointed her finger at the invite, "The board moved the date around this year." She shrugged a shoulder, "You'll just have to accept the commendation on my behalf."

Perry had a better solution. "No, you'll have to rearrange."

Lois smiled, "You can't rearrange a birthday, Perry."

"Cancel, then."

Lois leaned forward, bracing her weight on the back of a chair, "Look. No one likes to dodge Lane family gatherings more than me, but I am expected to put in the occasional token appearance. It's her birthday party, she made me swear I'd attend it this year, and I did, and I'm going to go." She lifted her thumbs, "I'm sorry."

They looked at each other. "If you're not at the Sheldon collecting that award, it's going to look like sour grapes."

"I don't care how it looks. I made a promise, and I can't be at the ceremony."

The frown remained on Perry's face. His phone started to ring. "Kent will be there."

Lois shrugged, "It's the Gazette's night. Maybe it's like you said, sometimes you just have to respect that," her hand whisked through the air, "and move on."

"You'll regret it." Perry picked up the phone. "You'll regret not meeting him."

"If he's half as good as everyone and their mothers seems to think he is, then there's always next year." Lois leaned in a little, "I'll wear a pretty dress and everything." In the doorway she turned around and thumbed at herself, "And he can meet me."


	2. Chapter 2

**-Chapter Two-**

**Some Months Later.**

Silently, in the dark, with rain lashing at the windows, Lois turned a small unlit penlight in her hands and considered the omens. A delayed flight. A diversion to Kansas City. Having to hire a car and hitting the storm head-on coming the other way. There was no service on her cell, there was nothing waterproof either on her person or in her luggage, and the inside of the sedan reeked of burning rubber.

At least she had been able to get to the safety of the verge. The two-lane highway was arrow straight and edged on either side by a narrow, dirt, shoulder. Allowing for the way the car had fishtailed to a standstill and now listed awkwardly to the right, she guessed the strike had blown a set of tires.

She waited until the last roll of thunder had passed five minutes ago and then waited another five minutes on top, just to be safe. Then she clicked the penlight on, hunched her shoulders to stretch her little woolen shrug up and over her head, took a fortifying breath, and thrust herself out of the car.

The sensation and the weight of cold water hitting exposed skin made her gasp and before she had rounded the front of the sedan, the cotton dress she was wearing was clinging tight against her body and the soles of her espadrille slingbacks were soaked. Having succeeded only in restricting the movement of her upper arms, Lois pulled her sweater off her head and back down onto her shoulders again so she could properly ascertain the damage to the vehicle. The meager beam of the penlight picked out the raggedy remains of both right-sided tires and a closer inspection back at the front of the car revealed a thin plume of smoke escaping from underneath the hood.

Touching to test, she found the hood was cool enough to open. With the flashlight between her teeth, Lois's fingertips fumbled for the manual release. Eventually she found the catch and lifted the hood clear, holding it open with her right arm while her left went to brush her fringe out of her eyes. Reaching across, the heel of her hand knocked the end of the penlight and it dropped at her feet.

"Oh, come on." She lowered the hood again, and went to pick up the light. In the dark she failed to give herself sufficient room and as she bent she glanced the right side of her temple on the headlight trim. A string of expletives were swallowed up by the night as she retreated back inside the car, her hand pressed against one side of her face. She could feel sticky heat where she had drawn blood and irritably she pulled off her sweater and rolled it into a bandage to hold at her head.

Swapping hands she picked up her phone from the passenger seat, saw that there was still no signal and tossed it down again. As she sat catching her breath, she reassessed the situation. No electrical systems, no road map, and she had lost GPS with the car but she was fairly certain of her location. The last road sign had said forty miles to town and there must be some kind of civilization before that. A gas station or telephone, at least.

The rain continued to hammer against the car. She was soaking wet and cold, with a throbbing headache, and a bag packed for a weekend of golden fields, big skies, sunshine and barbecue.

She looked out the windshield, and then out the back, and grimaced. With the exception of a semi roaring past in the opposite direction, the last vehicle she had even seen had been at a set of lights almost an hour ago- a real slowpoke that she had been glad to burn off. There had been no sign of anyone since.

She sighed. Before she turned back around her attention was caught by the dress she had hanging from the backseat grab-handle. More specifically, by the plastic dry-cleaning bag that encased it.

...

Every time Lois took a step, the soles of her feet unsuckered themselves, briefly, from her sandals before squelching back down into place again. The affect had the dubious distinction of being a deal more pleasant a sensation than the sound it produced. The soles of her feet were wet. Her legs were wet- the entire front half of her body was wet. The top of her head and her back were a little more protected because she had unzipped the dry-cleaning bag, tucked her shoulders inside, and was now wearing it, like a snail shell.

She had been walking for about twenty minutes. Without visible landmarks it was difficult to gauge exact road speed but Lois reckoned on going about as fast as anyone in heels, in a storm, towing a travel case and with a head wound, could reasonably expect.

The rain fell vertically. It no longer felt cold, she had become immune to it, but every so often the wind picked up and when that happened the chill over her body made her suck in a breath.

Unexpectedly, a dappling of yellow suddenly illuminated the air and the individual rain drops around her. More light, stronger light, appeared on the road. She turned to see two headlights transfiguring themselves from fuzzy Van Gogh halos into distinct shapes and quickly flicked on her penlight to wave. She only truly believed salvation had arrived and this was not some sort of trick of the mind or reverse-mirage when a loud _beep beep _cut through the noise of rain on tarmac and the vehicle passed her before rolling to a halt on the side of the road just ahead.

She offered a prayer of thanks upwards, adding, "And I wasn't kidding about the smoking thing," before shrugging off and underarming the dress bag and trotting across the road, over to where the car was waiting. The passenger door opened for her as she approached, and now that she was close, Lois noticed the car was also a rental- the same company and model as hers.

She was going to mention that until she reached the door and looked inside.

Behind the wheel, there was a man. A mop of thick jet black hair was side-parted and swept back unfussily off his face. Beneath a pair of dark eyebrows, two clear blue eyes sparkled up at her. The man had a lovely smile, warm and honest. Between that, and the squareness of his jaw, and the way stubble darkened his chin and the dimple just below his bottom lip, Lois was momentarily disarmed.

The man shouted over, "Hi!"

She couldn't help the smile back. "Hi!"

Lois took him in. His shirt was open at the collar and his sleeves were rolled to the elbow, but an overall casual scruffiness was undercut by the rest of his appearance. No tie or jacket, but his dress shirt and trousers were immaculately pressed, she could see. He looked well put together. Clearly a businessman or respectable professional, she decided. Her age, maybe a little older. He was obviously a big guy because the car wasn't small and he was taking up a lot of space. When he lifted his hand to thumb backwards, the muscle in his forearm flexed and his shirt pulled tight over a round shoulder and thick bicep.

"That your car, back there?"

"Yeah!" Her purse slipped off her shoulder and she repositioned the strap.

"Engine trouble?"

Unable to help herself, she told him, "No, I just thought I'd take a walk."

He raised an eyebrow but she was already waving her hand in apology. "The electrics. I think. And both my right-side tires were blown." A finger pointed upwards, "I was hit by a lightning strike."

The blue eyes darkened and his eyebrows leveled. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just a little wet. The car's fried, though."

A few seconds passed while neither said anything, they just looked at each other wearing similar, expectant expressions. She was still in the rain, ducked down, peering into the car.

The man said, "Do you want to get in?"

Her instincts had her hesitating. No, that wasn't true. The opposite was true.

So she scrunched her nose. "Do you have any I.D. I can see?"

The man looked surprised and leaned over, "I'm sorry?"

"I.D.?" Lois repeated, a little louder. "Do you have any I.D.?"

The eyebrows lowered back into a frown, and he seemed unsure, unclear whether he was offended or amused. Lois remained as she was, one arm holding up the dress bag, the other braced on the open car door. Droplets of rain washed over her face, ran off her nose, the tips of her hair, her chin. She couldn't have been more wet if she'd just climbed out of a pool. But she was waiting and unflinching, and perfectly serious.

The man tried out a smile, "Is there some kind of a problem, officer?"

She returned the smile in kind, cupping her hands to gesture with her fingers first towards him, then at herself, "You're a random stranger. I'm defenceless and alone on a deserted highway," she explained for him. "I would just feel better about things if I could see some I.D."

Squinting, he followed her logic, "So when I bundle you into my car to kidnap you, at least it'd be on a first-name basis?"

Well, well, Lois smiled; a smart ass. She pulled out her useless cell phone from her purse and wiggled it, "I know people," she bluffed. "I can run a background check."

The man shook his head, a half-smile playing at his lips. He looked back up at her and made her wait another moment. Then he reached behind to the backseat to feel for his jacket. There he unclipped some credentials and held them out for her.

Lois took the tags from him with a look of triumph and a generous side of_ that wasn't so hard, was it? _In a flourish, she straightened and flicked on the penlight, tucking the hair out of her face so she could read the details on the square of laminated plastic. The driver was leaning over, looking up. She could feel his attention on her.

Her eyes crinkled to concentrate, and then her face fell. With difficulty, Lois managed to say, "Clark Kent?"

A smile tugged one corner of his mouth as he quirked his head in easy confirmation.

"You're Clark Kent?"

This time he nodded.

"_The_ Clark Kent?"

"Yes."

Blinking rain out of her eyes, she held up the tag to show him, "From the Gazette?"

He frowned, looking completely earnest. "Would you like to see my credit cards?" His bottom lip curled, "Some dental records?"

He was rewarded with a thin smile as she jutted back the tag, threw her purse after it and closed the door. As she dragged the case around to the back of the car she heard him buzz the passenger-side window down and call out, "Perhaps an identifying birthmark?"

She popped the trunk and ducked underneath the hatch, grouching darkly, "I take it back about the smoking." At last afforded some shelter from the rain, she threw in the dry-cleaning bag and with a heave and a swing, the travel case followed. Unzipping it she began to root around for whatever was still dry and clean. She pulled out the dress she had removed from the dry-cleaning bag earlier and laid it to one side while she began to peel off one shoulder of the dress she was wearing. Suddenly, she stopped. She called out, "Hey, can you see me back there?"

Above the sound of the rain she heard a muffled, "Say again?"

Lois shouted back, "I said, can you see me?"

In the front, Clark checked his mirrors, then turned and strained to catch sight of her. No matter how he moved all that was visible was the angled lid of the sedan's trunk. "No, why?"

"Are you sure?"

"Ma'am?" Clark yelled, both hands surrendered uselessly in the air.

"I'm going to get undressed," came a testy by-way-of-explanation. "I just want to make sure my decency is protected!"

"Oh." She heard him yell after a beat.

As quickly as possible, Lois worked herself into her last dry items of clothing. Closing the trunk she skipped back round to the front and slid into the car. She dropped her purse and kicked off the soggy sandals into the footwell, settled back and allowed a sigh to escape her- it was so good to be out of the rain and into some warmth. Realizing he had switched all the heaters on full, and directed them at her, she glanced across at Kent. His eyes were tight shut.

Lois knew lots of successful reporters, and they shared certain common traits. They were ambitious, driven. Sometimes sweary, sometimes sweaty. Almost always in a kind of ticcing, nervous, perpetual motion. And here was Clark Kent, the best of them all- this year, anyway. He looked so at ease, so comfortable sitting there. It was all very annoying. He had usurped her. The least he could be was short-tempered, a little grouchy, a little ugly and careworn and conforming to type. Not so well-mannered and considerate. And still patiently waiting for her. Despite herself, she was touched. "You can look now."

Clark's eyes flickered open. "Oh."

Under his gaze Lois was suddenly self-conscious, "What?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. "You look..." Now he was the one who looked a little unsure of himself. He re-established eye-contact. "It's a beautiful dress."

"Oh." She could feel a blush creep up the back of her neck. "Thank you." It was a beautiful dress. Deep purple chiffon, and strapless, it didn't quite manage to make it to her knees. A little more glamorous a traveling outfit than perhaps had been anticipated, she explained, "My last dry change of clothes." Her lips twitched, "It was this or my tigger pajamas."

He smiled. Then she watched something new come into his eyes. Carefully, she said, "What?"

He was giving her a look. "I was just wondering if we've already met? I mean, before?"

Her lips pinched. "I don't think so."

"Are you sure?"

With confidence, Lois informed him, "I'd remember."

Clark's fingers lifted off the top of the steering wheel as he stared out. "Well, I would too." He turned to her again, "But it's just that you seem kind of annoyed with me." He smiled, "Usually it takes people a lot longer to get to that stage."

From the passenger side there was a beleaguered sigh and wilting of shoulders, as if she was disappointed in them both that it had come to this. She lifted her hands to the nape of her neck to tie her hair back. In self-explanatory fashion, Lois said, "I'm Lois Lane."

A warm glow of professional pride, and something less identifiable that came and went before she would've been prepared to admit to it, flared when a big toothy grin spread across the man's face. "Daily Planet?"

She wiped her palm dry off her hip and offered it to Clark. He enclosed it within the warmth of his own as they cordially shook hands.

"Lois Lane," he echoed. Sitting back with a crooked elbow and his hand on his thigh, he gave the general impression that this was basically the best news he'd heard all day, maybe ever. "What are you doing on a Friday night on a highway in the middle of Kansas?"

Reaching forward to flip down the sun visor, Lois countered, "I could ask you the same question."

"I'm visiting family."

"Me too."

He tilted his head at her. She was preoccupied, checking out her appearance in the mirror on the visor. Just on the one side of her face though. She had lifted her fringe away on the right side of her forehead and was taking a closer look. When her fingers touched just above the eyebrow, she sucked in a breath, "Ow."

"Are you okay?"

"It's nothing," she said. Angling the mirror some more, she tried moving closer to see the reflection. "I bashed my head on the car."

"How?"

"I was taking a look at the engine. Inspecting the damage." Ticking her head, she amended, "Trying to."

"Let me see."

With polite assurance, she said, "It's okay, it's just a scratch."

Clark leaned to get a better view. "Let me see- I'm field medicine certified by the US Army."

A sharp look found no evidence of bragging in his expression- instead there was only an attentive frown of concern on his face. Whether it was something about the blue of his eyes, or because they were holding such a singular focus, under it, Lois faltered. "I'm sure it just needs a band-aid, really."

He held up his hands. They were _huge_. A traitorous corner of her subconcious couldn't help noting there was no band on his third finger.

"I'll be gentle, I promise."

She gave in and Clark popped his seatbelt so they could both twist round into a better position. She shifted forward towards him, lifting her hair out of the way.

He flicked the car light above them on to its brightest strength and touched his fingers to her chin so he could adjust her to his satisfaction.

Lois found herself eye-level with his jaw and looking directly at the unbuttoned V of his neck and collar- very much closer to skin and to the smell of him than one would necessarily have expected on just becoming acquainted with a man who until five minutes ago was not only a stranger, but a rival.

He was tan, there, on his neck, but only where the sun could reach. He smelled sweet and clean, like soap. She caught herself before she took a deep, indulgent, sniff and then was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of how close they were, of the sound her own breathing was making in this enclosed space.

A strand of hair escaped, fell across her temple and he automatically pushed it away again with the tips of his fingers. A prickle traveled over her scalp and down her nape and for the first time that whole night she was grateful for the rain and the noise of it on the car as it masked her ragged intake of breath.

Clark regarded the swollen gash just above the line of her right eyebrow. "Hmm. I don't think you'll need stitches." With a note of caution, he said, "Looks pretty deep, though. You'll have to be careful it doesn't get infected." They both leaned away back into their seats. "Give me a sec- I've got a first aid kit in the back."

"No, really, no. It's-" But he was already on the move and slamming the door behind him. Her hand remained swaying in the air, then dropped, "okay."

The car rocked as the trunk was opened and closed. In a moment, he was pulling open the door and climbing back in behind the wheel. "That's some weather out there," he told her cheerfully and unnecessarily as he pushed damp hair back off his face.

Something about his manner was infectious and Lois found herself shaking her head at him. Along with a small plastic box, he had returned with a hooded grey sweatshirt. He offered it over, "And I've got this."

"Oh." She pulled the sweatshirt into her lap. "Thank you." Wrapping it around her shoulders like a blanket, it engulfed her. It made her smile. A smile that only widened when she glanced over to where Clark had lifted the catch on the first aid box and now had it laid open on his knees.

She could see a roll of gauze, a tube of antiseptic cream, a small vial of saline, a packet each of sterile dressing pads and sticking plasters- even a little pair of scissors. Every item was carefully packed and wedged into its own space.

She swayed towards him, watching while he picked over the contents. "That come with the car, or is that yours?"

"Mine." He didn't need to catch her look. "What?"

"Nothing." There was a pause while she adjusted the sweater. "Ever in boy scouts?"

"Of course."

She made a smug contented little "Mm" sound.

He unrolled what turned out to be a pair of disposable gloves, eyes widening, "Like you can talk."

She met this with a frown.

In a tone of disapproval, he said, "Poking around underneath the hood of a car in the first place." His eyes flicked to the windshield and the deluge beyond, "In this."

She smiled, explaining, "I was just taking a look."

"What were you going to do? Jump-start the thing with your curling irons? Repair the motherboard with some tweezers and a nail file?"

Ignoring his baiting, Lois's eyes narrowed, "I grew up an army brat. I know my way around a car engine."

Clark was pulling on one of the gloves, shaking his head, "Not anymore. Cars are computers. There's nothing you can take out and replace." Absently, he said, "These days, no one wants to get their hands dirty."

A moment of electricity for Lois passed, unseen by Clark.

"Now," he said, the gloved hand holding up a folded sterile wipe, "this might sting, just a little."

Fighting off a smile, she told him, "Try not to enjoy it too much."

His eyes sparkled as he gave her his best solemn look, "I'll try."

She turned her head and leaned over to him again, prepared to flinch whatever the case, but Clark's touch was light and extremely tender. With a minimum of fuss he had the wound cleaned. She watched him busily squirt some of the antiseptic cream onto the pad of a band-aid and lift it up to her. His thumbs made the merest contact when he ran them over the edges to apply it.

He deposited the used wipe and glove into the spare glove, then tucked that away into the box. "There we go. Good as new." He inspected his handiwork, and, looking at her, he seemed to reconsider. Quietly, he said, "Almost."

Her eyes met his and, embarrassingly, she could feel herself blushing again. "Thank you."

"We better get this show on the road." Tossing the kit behind him, he buckled his seatbelt back on. "So, Miss Lane. Where can I take you?"

"Uh, it's a town just up ahead, I think. Smallville?" Without much confidence, she squinted, "You know it?"

Clark put the car into drive, a playful smile pulling one corner of his lips as they pulled away, "I've heard of it." He glanced over, "It's where I'm going."

"Smallville?"

He nodded.

"You have family in Smallville?"

"I grew up there."

The biggest grin was forming on Lois's face, half-wonderment, half-disbelief. "I take it you won't be at the Sheldon tomorrow night, either?"

"This is my first time back in the country in a while." He confided, "I'm spending the weekend at my mom's."

That provoked a wry, surprised laugh.

He looked confused. "What?"

"Nothing," she answered, honestly. She regarded him while he drove. "You're nothing like I expected."

Brow still lowered, he said, "I think I'm flattered you expected anything."

She wasn't fooled. "You just took first prize in journalism's most competitive popularity contest. Yeah, I expected something."

For a long moment there was only the sound and the rhythm of the wipers. After a while he glanced over again, "So is it a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Is what a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Me. Challenging your expectations."

The smile dimpled her cheeks. "I haven't decided yet," she lied.

"What did you expect?"

She mulled it over, enjoying the opportunity to admire and just soak in his appearance. "I don't know," she said. "Someone older, maybe." Her nose scrunched, "Someone a little more grizzled around the edges."

"Oh." He squinted one eye, "Well, I haven't shaved in a couple of days." He wiped his right hand over the stubble on his chin, mock-lamenting, "But I'm afraid this is about as grizzled as I get."

She chuckled.

"You're not exactly like I expected, either."

Interested, she propped her elbow against the window frame. "What did you expect?"

His forehead furrowed as if he was thinking hard. "I don't know." Feigning innocence, he said, "Someone older, maybe? Someone a little more grizzled around the edges?"

This time she let out a laugh that was full-on and throaty. "I haven't shaved in a couple of days, either." Mimicking him, her hand rubbed across her face, "But I'm afraid this is about as grizzled as I get."

He was grinning, gently shaking his head.

"So," she said. "Smallville, huh?"

"Yep."

"Not a big town."

"By name, by nature," he agreed.

"You wouldn't happen to know the Sullivans, would you?"

...

As soon as her phone was back in range, Lois placed two calls, one to the rental company and one to her aunt and uncle to assure them they didn't have to wait up. When her aunt found out it was Clark Kent that was bringing Lois home, she shrieked and it took an awkward couple of minutes of explanation, and then insistence, to establish that she had only met Clark by coincidence and en route.

The rest of the way, they laughed and talked. Clark's flight out of Gotham had been diverted too and they guessed they could only have missed each other at baggage claim by minutes. They worked out their paths must have crossed before afterall- once- at Clark's fifth birthday party. Clark asked after General Lane whom he had run into during a press briefing early on in Afghanistan. Lois explained that her father was stuck in D.C. over the weekend which was unlucky because it was rare for her family to all be in one place. She explained that she was not a regular visitor to Smallville. Clark had arrived in the States a couple of days ago, but this was his first time back home in over a year.

They moved on to shop talk and exchanging war stories. Clark was trying to play it cool. Until an hour ago, Lois Lane had been only a name and a reputation to him. Right now, at this precise moment, he was feeling many things; admiration, horror, and, with her wind-swept cheeks, beat-up forehead, and apparent nonchalance over the threat of bodily harm, straightforward and uncomplicated attraction.

"You dangled him. Head-first?"

"I _hoisted_ him."

"Head-first?"

"I set the rig up and tied the knot myself," Lois explained in offhand fashion. "He was perfectly safe."

Clark kept his eyes on the road but she read the unconvinced look that passed across his face. There was a matter-of-fact shrugging of the shoulders, "To nail the guy, we needed the picture."

"I think I'm beginning to see a pattern emerge."

One sleeve of the sweater Lois was now wearing was raised in the air, "My motto is 'Reckless is only reckless when a loss of limb is involved'."

"Catchy. Your own, or somebody else's?"

"Somebody else's motto, or somebody else's limbs?"

"Limbs!"

"Oh, Clark," she chided. She had a way of saying his name like she'd known him forever. "This is about the driving, again."

"No harm, no foul, as a survival technique," Clark pointed out, not unreasonably, "just seems like it would only be successful in an after-the-fact kind of way."

Both sleeves went up, exasperated, and there was a waggle of her head, "I apologized, didn't I?"

"And your photographer? Did you apologize to him?"

"Jimmy?" Lois poo-pooed. "Jimmy lives for that stuff. Besides." She paused. "His eyebrows grew back." A longer pause, "Eventually."

"I can't believe that was you back at those lights."

"And by that you mean-"

"Not only can I absolutely believe it was you, but I'm surprised you didn't airhorn me Dixieland on the way past."

Lois stared out the passenger window. Clark couldn't see but he knew she was rolling her eyes. She looked back over. "The old lady that lives across from me drives faster than you, and she has one good eye, and she has a_ cane_," she teased.

"Unlike some, I regard traffic laws as a legal limitation, not a baseline standard. And it's a good job, too- otherwise you'd still be back there, double-timing it, only dreaming about making it home for breakfast."

Her eyes glinted mischief, "But if I hadn't overtaken you, you wouldn't have been behind me in the first place."

One eyebrow flicked, "If I drove like you, I wouldn't have been behind you at all."

Suddenly she straightened and beamed at him in delight; "'That which produces is the cause of that which is produced.' The Metaphysics." A sleeve flip-flopped between them excitedly, "What we have here is an event paradox."

"What we have here is sensible road habits making up for bad ones."

"Clearly we balance each other out."

"Maybe you're just lucky," Clark suggested.

Lois was appalled, "I was hit by lightning!"

"In some cultures that is lucky."

"...What cultures?"

"...The ancient Greeks."

Lois pffed her lips at him.

He told her, "You're the one that brought up Aristotle."

"Maybe it was fate."

He checked his mirrors and the car began to slow, "This is us."

With surprise Lois realized the unremitting and blanket darkness of the highway had given way to houses and streetlights. They were back in suburbia, and it had stopped raining. She was almost sorry.

They made a left turn onto a wide avenue with grassy lawns either side and pulled up in front of a split-level that had her sister's freelander sitting in the drive and the porch light on.

Clark turned off the engine.

Lois had pushed her sleeves past her elbows and retrieved her purse which she was now fishing through. "Um, I've got like two dollars and half a stick of gum on me right now, so I was thinking if you could give me your details and I-"

"Oh, no, no," he stopped her mid-ramble when he realized what she was doing. They looked at each other. "I don't want your money."

"Please." She shook her head. "Give me your address, then- for some flowers? Or a six-pack?" Off his face, she pleaded, "A fruit basket- for your mom? Or whatever?" Lines creased the corners of her eyes, "As a token of my appreciation?"

He shook his head no. "It's not necessary- I was in the right place, at the right time." In the dark of the car, his eyes shone, "Like you said- it was fate."

Resigned, Lois closed her eyes and sang, "Please don't make me send something directly to your office." When there was no response, she opened her eyes. "Fine," she pointed, wanting to be clear, "but it'll be anonymous. And if anyone asks, _ever_; I'll flat-out deny it, and I'll take that information with me to the grave_._"

He tipped his head that in the circumstances that was fair enough.

She sighed at him, dissatisfied. "I feel like I should invite you in. Offer you a coffee or something?"

He smiled crookedly, "That's okay. It's pretty late." Then he cleared his throat and nodded in the direction of the house, "You can tell Moira and Gabe I'll catch up with them tomorrow night."

Her head tilted slowly as the grin unfurled itself on her face. "Reneging on the Sheldon, but a barn dance- you'll go to?"

"You've clearly never been to a barn dance in Smallville," he deadpanned before squinting at her. "And I find it interesting that you would ask me that question without a hint of irony in your tone."

"I'm here under duress," she reminded him huskily before reaching to pick up her sandals and stepping out onto the street. The movement and the standing up made her head throb, and she let out a woozy, "Oo."

"Oh, let me help." Clark jumped out and they met round by the brakelights of the car. He opened the trunk and she gathered up the empty dry-cleaning bag while he lifted her travel case out and settled it on the ground for her, "Here."

"Thanks."

He closed the trunk and then there was nothing more to do. They stood facing each other, and he was able to really see her for the first time. She was quite a picture. Her cheeks were still flushed from the weather and tresses of dark, wavy, hair, stiff from the rain, fell down over her shoulders. She had tucked her fringe back and it half-covered the rectangle of band-aid, and eyes that glinted almost black. Even without heels she was taller than she'd seemed sitting in the car. A pair of long, sleek legs disappeared underneath his sweatshirt which was just hanging off her. It fell past the hemline of her dress, and, underneath it, standing barefoot in the middle of the street, for all the world she could've been naked.

"Oh, your sweater," she said, looking down and inspecting herself.

"Keep it. Until tomorrow."

She nodded, tucked the strand of hair back behind her ear. "So."

"So," he repeated, equally awkward, but not wanting to have to stop looking at her face.

"Thank you. Again." She pointed to her head, to the band-aid, smiling. "For everything."

"It was nothing," he said. "It was my pleasure."

After another pause her eyes flickered as if she had finally decided on something. She stuck out her hand. "It was nice meeting you, Clark Kent."

They shook on it. "You too, Lois Lane."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Ridiculously, the moment she walked away he felt the ache of her absence beside him.

"Lois." Before she had reached the drive, she turned to him. He moved a shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow night, then?"

She raised an eyebrow, looking almost cocky. "I'll see you tomorrow night."

He couldn't see because she had turned away again, but the grin stretching wide and bright across his face was matched exactly by her own.


	3. Chapter 3

**-Chapter Three-**

The Apple Orchard was no longer an apple orchard, but the old barn had been converted back in the sixties and was available to hire for events. It was popular in town because it was big and, with a gambrel roof and open rafters, authentically rustic. In the end room, where the presses used to be, there was now a large and well-furnished kitchen.

Lois and her family had spent most of the day there, preparing for the party. While her sister's kids ran around and early-arrivers milled in and out, helping her uncle and brother-in-law arrange the main room, the women busily put the finishing touches to platters of food, giggling and backchatting over each other as they worked.

Wearing a pair of huge quilted mitts, Lois rose from the oven to slide a large baking dish onto the countertop, "She's just bitter because I have always had the greater mastery over the ways of the flan." Her mitts did a showroom 'voila' gesture over the flan to emphasize her point.

Along the counter, Lucy snorted while she added vinegar dressing to a bowl of salad. "This from the girl who tried to serve me charbroiled lasagna. _Charbroiled_ lasagna."

Lois looked wounded as her aunt and cousin snickered. "An honest mix up with your counter-intuitive oven settings, sis." She placed a mitt over her heart- "And below the apron strings."

The kitchen door opened and a small, silver-haired woman entered the room backwards carrying two cake boxes, one on top of the other. "Hey there, everyone. Did someone order pie?"

Moira directed the woman to a space on the kitchen table and put down a pair of tongs to clasp her hands, "Martha, you're a marvel."

Setting down the boxes and lifting open a lid, Martha revealed the first pie to the group. Its golden-brown crust was finished with an intricate lattice pattern and, in the middle, four delicate pastry apple leaves.

Her flan-bragging brought into its proper perspective, Lois was genuinely awed. "I think that's the most impressive thing I've ever seen."

Then Martha opened the other box and a pie a size bigger was inside. Everyone around the table cooed.

"Okay._ That's_ the most impressive thing I've ever seen," Lois corrected.

The lady allowed herself a modest chuckle as Moira gently patted Lois on the small of the back, "Martha, you remember Lois- my brother's eldest? Lois, this is Martha Kent. Clark's mom."

The lady's face lit up, "Lois! Of course." Seeing Lucy and Lois standing together, she mused, "Goodness. Look at you two girls, all grown up." Lucy, the youngest, Martha knew from more recent visits. She was the same build as Lois, svelte and slim, and with the same dark looks. They were both wearing jeans, Lucy with a sleeveless, black top, and Lois in a fitted plaid button up. Lucy's hair was straight and cut in a bob whereas Lois's hair tumbled over her shoulders in waves. But that they were sisters was obvious. "So pretty, just like your mother." Martha leaned in a little to twinkle at Lois, "You know, the last time I saw you, you ate too much ice cream and threw up all over my husband's shoulder."

Lois's eyes flicked to the side and back. "If this doesn't turn out to be an embarrassing baby story, I can only apologize unreservedly and assure you I no longer drink tequila."

Martha closed one eye, "I guess you were about three years old at the time."

Lois clicked and cocked her fingers, "Clark's fifth birthday party."

They smiled widely at each other before Martha's expression turned puckish. "You know, you made quite an impression on my son, last night."

Unsuccessfully staving off the rising heat on her cheeks, Lois opened her mouth.

From behind her, her cousin chipped in, "Feeling's mutual, Mrs K- you should have heard her this morning. She asked if she-"

"_Thank you_, Chloe!" Lois gritted through a fixed grin to her cousin's unrepentant glee. Lois went back to addressing Martha. "Your son was my knight-in-shining-armor last night, ma'am." She gave a simple shrug, "I don't know what I would've done without him. He's a credit to you."

The middle of Martha's forehead knotted. "Thank you."

A knock on the door interrupted them and Clark leaned in, "Mom. Gabe says three's plenty, so I've left the other keg in the-" he trailed off, unnerved by the way everyone was looking at him. "...truck."

Everyone in her family except Lois drawled out a giggly, "Hi Clark!"

"Ladies." He saw her then, and sort of shuffled, recognizing they had been cast together into the glare of the spotlight, "Lois."

A band had tightened across Lois's chest. In jeans and a dark shirt, and now clean shaven, she knew, _she knew_ that she had never met a man she found so physically attractive. She smiled back and tried to psychically transmit an apology on her family's behalf.

"Well, if you're looking for something to do." Moira ducked under the table and reappeared with a large cardboard box, "Lois was just about to go out back and hang the lights." She smiled sweetly at them both, "Maybe you could help her?"

...

They stole a chair from under Gabe's stewardship and set up in one corner of the porch that ran the length of the side of the barn facing the orchard. The early evening sunshine cast long shadows amongst the old apple trees.

With the box between them, they began to untangle the first knotted balls of string lights.

Lois sneaked a sidelong look at Clark. "Have we just been set up?"

He shared her embarrassed grin. "Smallville-style."

Rolling her lips, she nodded. "There's a certain lack of subtlety to the way things work around here. I forget."

"I guess it takes a little tuning in to."

Carefully she unwound where two bulbs had caught together, "No, I like it. It's refreshing."

"You're turning native on me, Miss Lane."

Off her look of inquiry, he said, "You look good in plaid."

Surprised, Lois pulled at one of the buttons on her shirt, "This? This is my sister's wardrobe coming to the rescue. I hand washed it, like, three times, but you have no idea how hard it is to get the smell of smoked tire out of layered chiffon."

She giggled when he replied with a straight face, "Actually, I do. But I made a vow with myself never to speak of it again." He added, simply, "It suits you."

"When in Rome."

"Almost as much as my sweater."

Lois stopped what she was doing. "I knew I'd forgotten something."

He smiled that he was teasing her. "How's your head, today?"

She nodded slowly, in appreciation. "Okay. You did a good job."

"I'll be your cutman any time."

They lapsed into silence. She gave him another sidelong glance. "You're a good guy, you know that?"

He regarded her, a wry expression on his face. "It's been said."

"Just talking to people," Lois continued, without looking at him. Her fingers were working at undoing where two separate stands of wire had become twisted into a braid. "People around here think a lot of you."

Flippant, he offered, "I'm a good guy."

They had freed up the first section of lights. Clark positioned the chair and stepped up onto it. While Lois fed him the lights and he attached them, she stared at him. "There's more to it than that."

She heard him sigh before he stepped down off the chair. "I went off to cover a war. I'm sure that's part of it." He wiped some dust off his hands on the back of his jeans. "I got shot, I got a medal." He met her eyes, "A smalltown boy being a big hero."

"So how did that happen?"

His eyes sparkled with mischief. "I should've listened when someone yelled 'duck'."

She looked away, chuckling. "That's not what I meant."

Grinning, softly, he told her he knew. They moved the box and chair along and Clark hopped back on. "I wanted to travel the world. So I did. Everything else fell into place after that."

Lois handed over the next length of lights. "You make it sound very simple."

"Growing up on a farm, usually you have two pretty clear career choices."

"Stay or go."

He nodded. "I had it in my head I was going to have the best of both worlds- go off and get my law degree. Come back and open a small practice." He threw her a look, "Real Atticus Finch stuff, you know?"

If he was scared of sounding corny, she showed no sign that she thought so. Instead, she looked intrigued, "Law degree?"

He shrugged, hopping down again. "I figured that way I'd still be around- helping my parents, and doing what I wanted to do."

"And what was that?"

"Making a difference to the world, in some, small way? Making things better, easier." There was a slight lift of his shoulders, "Helping people?" Again, he looked almost embarrassed to be telling her, but the way she was looking at him, so clear-eyed and sincere, encouraged him. He sighed, "My father died that summer before college, and I thought, well, that's it. No way I can leave now."

Gently, Lois said, "But you did."

"My mom." They moved the chair on and he climbed up. "I think she saw the world suddenly reduce in size for me, and she hated it. And so the opposite happened." He smiled wryly, "I didn't just leave town, I left the country. It was like," he stopped for a moment, "being a widow, and alone, and muddling on without me was somehow the better option." He shook his head, as if still in wonder about it, "She was pretty adamant."

Lois didn't disguise her respect. "Your mom sounds like an amazing woman."

Clark stepped to the floor and nudged the chair on. He stepped back up and she fed him the next section. "I deferred enrollment, took out all my savings, and off I went. To see the world."

Her eyes shone. "Where'd you go?"

"Oh. Everywhere. Mexico first, then down through South America and over to Europe. My savings ran out before the year did but my hostel owner in Riga part-owned the local paper. For beer money I submitted a few articles that he could translate." Clark hopped down and wiped his hands on his jeans again, "They were sketches, really. Little travelogues about my misadventures. Where I'd already been, and the stuff I'd seen."

"An innocent abroad?"

They grinned at each other. "Basically." Clark raised an eyebrow, looking away. "But he liked them, and I liked writing them, and I found it came easy." He picked up the chair and they moved along to hang the last set of lights. "I deferred another year and freelanced my way all over Africa, then Asia, the subcontinent." He stepped up onto the chair and she unwound more flex as he needed it. "When I came home, I knew what I wanted to do. Gotham U granted me a transfer to the journalism program. I graduated, ended up shipping out to Sierra Leone on my first assignment."

"For AFP, right?"

He turned his head to look at her.

"I would turn up the odd article by you." She coughed, "occasionally. How'd you wind up writing for the Gazette?"

"I met Bruce Wayne on a basecamp in the Urubamba basin that first year and we've been friends ever since. When the paper needed a special correspondent in Kabul, I got a phone call from the editor's office."

"Is that why you went to the Gazette? Because of the Waynes?"

Finished with the lights, Clark stepped down to her. "Yes and no. I'd already spent a couple of internships there. But Thomas was brave enough to give me my break. I wanted that job, so it-"

"Hey, stranger."

Lois and Clark turned to see a pretty, redheaded woman appear on the porch.

With surprised delight, Clark said, "Lana!"

"I've been looking for you everywhere!"

"You found me."

In a rush the woman strode along the porch and straight into Clark's arms, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. It seemed a private moment and Lois automatically took a step back.

"How's it going?"

"Pretty good."

Lana leaned away from him, frowning, "You got shot, Clark."

"Yeah."

"Don't do that again."

He grinned at her, "It wasn't exactly intentional the first time."

"That's his story."

For the first time the other woman's attention moved off Clark. Lois exchanged an expectant, knowing look with him.

"You must be Lois." Lana said brightly. They shook hands. "I was just catching up with your sister and cousin."

With a small, warm smile, Lois patted herself on the side of the leg, "I'll leave you guys to do the same." She tilted her head at the door, "See you in there."

...

When the lights dimmed, and despite protests, Lucy and Lois were dragged onto the dancefloor by Lucy's children and from that point on were unable to engineer a successful escape. As the out-of-towners at the party, they seemed to attract a lot of attention from a long line of local admirers. Eventually, Lucy's husband David took pity and stepped in. The unmarried sister, Lois was taking a double hit of having neither a husband to intervene, or act as an effective repellent in the first place. There was a DJ and the music was loud, so she could hear only in snatches, but by the end of the first hour of the party, Lois was pretty sure every guy that had cut in to dance with her had taken the opportunity to hit on her.

She had not spoken to Clark since she'd left him on the porch. Every so often she would glimpse him through the crowd, off to the side, either standing alone or chatting to someone, but she was never able to catch his eye.

Insisting on grabbing something to eat, Lois was finally able to break away from the dancefloor halfway through 'Love Shack' and find respite in a darkened corner by the dessert table. It was a short-lived, pyrrhic, victory, because even before the song had finished the same guy she'd left on the dancefloor came looking for her and, without time to react, he had her trapped in conversation.

She discovered that the man's name was Andy and, having once been of Smallville, he was now a citizen of Metropolis. On that basis, and without ever actually saying the words, he seemed to intimate, several times, that he and Lois should hook up. Lois held nothing against Andy. He seemed a decent enough man and although he was not what Lois would immediately describe as handsome, she thought he had a pleasant face. But she could also detect a desperation in his eyes that she had seen before and that she always found off-putting. Lois was not sure how many times one could, without ever actually saying the words, politely and graciously shoot someone down, but it was evidently a lot. With the conversation going round in ever-decreasing circles, figuring she had nothing to lose, she made a tactical decision.

Lois led Andy back on to the floor. She had already assumed her arm's-length-away position opposite when the disco lights softened and the music changed, and she realized her plan had backfired spectacularly. As a romantic violin intro started, and Sarah Vaughan began to sing, with the expression of a man for whom Christmas, birthdays and the lottery jackpot had come all at once, Andy carefully reached for her hands to pull her in for his dance. A slow dance.

Lois beamed at him, and swallowed and quietly wondered why there was never a lightning strike when you really needed it.

Behind her, a deep voice said, "Mind if I cut in?"

Several inches shorter, Andy's gaze had to lift upwards to meet the eye-line of Clark Kent, who was now standing between himself and Lois.

Clark was smiling at Andy, so earnest and polite, Andy hesitated. Lois could feel the Kent charm working its unholy magic.

"Uhh-"

"No!" Lois jumped in before Andy had a chance to say anything else. "No, we don't mind at all." She tilted her head at him, "I've monopolized way too much of your time already."

Andy looked confused, "Well, no I-"

Lois was already manoeuvring herself into the safety zone of Clark's personal space. She raised a shoulder at the other man. "If I'm lucky I'll run into you back home, maybe?" she said, managing to sound both positive and tremendously noncommittal as the swaying movement of other couples around them forced Lois and Clark to back away from Andy and into a pocket of open floor.

As soon as they were alone, Lois sighed with relief and leaned her weight into Clark for support. "Thank God. What took you so long?"

Clark's right hand went to rest on the curve of her waist while his left hand found her right, holding it close to his chest. They began moving gently in time to the music.

"You've had a pretty full card so far tonight."

She leaned away so she could look at him. Her expression was pained. "Tell me honestly. Have I danced with every unattached guy that's currently in this room?"

Clark glanced around as if to perform a check for her. "Even some of the attached ones."

She rested her forehead against his shoulder and made a noise that was weary.

They swayed side to side. "...And I think two or three you're actually related to."

She came to a stop to stare at him. "_What_?"

"Only by marriage," he deadpanned.

"Gross."

He began moving her again and she let herself relax. "I've totally danced myself out."

"Are you tired?"

"A little."

"Do you want to go sit down?"

There was a brief pause. "No."

For a while they were quiet, just enjoying the feeling of being in each other's arms, and the experience of being back in each other's company.

"I can't blame them."

Again, Lois leaned back to give him a puzzled look.

"The guys in this room. I didn't think I was ever going to get my chance."

Her head tilted slightly to one side as she continued to study him. "Did you know that you do this thing?"

An eyebrow twitched. "Thing?"

She answered with an affirmative hum.

"What thing?"

"Where you say something that sounds like you're unsure, when actually you're being really cocky."

"Really?"

She nodded. "Yep."

He seemed thoughtful. "In what way?"

"This down-home, butter-wouldn't-melt deal you've got going on." She narrowed her eyes, "It covers the fact you have a will made of steel."

Clark looked surprised. "I never realized." After a couple of beats, he said, "Why do you think that is?"

"Why you never realized, or why you do it in the first place?"

"Both."

"I think you do realize," she told him. "Although, I think it's not necessarily a conscious thing- I think it's more ingrained."

His eyebrows raised in mitigated offence, "You think I'm insidious?"

Lois shook her head, "No. I think you like being underestimated. It means you can fly under the radar and then; boom." She shrugged, "Before you know it, you've been Smallvilled."

His eyes were shining at her. "Oh, you mean it's like a defense mechanism?"

Her eyes were shining too, but her face crinkled, unhappy with his interpretation, "No, it's not negative." She bit her lip. "It's more like an offense mechanism," she decided, "it's-" she stumbled, beginning again, "Well, it's-"

He looked intrigued. "It's what?"

Her eyelids flickered. She backpedaled to re-choose her words. "I find it interesting."

A smug, knowing smile appeared on his lips. There was a calculated pause before he said, "So your cousin tells me you've been checking out my old yearbooks."

Lois sighed at him. Her tongue ran over the front of her teeth. "This is _exactly_ to what I'm referring."

"What were you hoping to find in there?"

Swaying to the music, they stared each other out. "I was just curious."

He said nothing.

In an even tone, she said, "What?"

His mouth turned down at the corners, "Nothing. I'm curious that you're curious." The grin returned, "What were you curious about?"

"I told you. The kind of guy who comes from a place like this and ends up writing award-winning articles from a war zone."

A couple more beats passed. "Well?"

There was a hollow laugh, "Well, what?"

"Was your curiosity satisfied?"

Now it was Lois's chance to turn mischievous. She narrowed her eyes, breathed deeply through her nose. "Let's just say I found your earlier work particularly instructive."

Off his expression, she explained seriously, "I'm indebted, truly, to Moira and Chloe for introducing me to the treasure trove of creativity that was tenth grade."

He had the grace to look chastened once he had caught up with her.

She dropped her voice and leaned closer to tell him, "I think it takes a real man to write poetry, Clark." Her eyes flashed, "And, you know, publish it."

"You don't want to go down this road," he warned her, already sensing it was useless.

"Oh," she assured him, "but I do." She squinted as her head ticked to one side, "Points against for the pseudonym, though."

There was a clenched grimace while Lois enjoyed herself. "Shall I name some favorites? Now let me see," she drawled thoughtfully. "There was 'Waning Moon', and 'Echoes of Gravity', and 'Color Conundrum'- that was a real gem."

His shoulders rippled, "You memorized the entire page?"

"It was a double-page spread," she reminded him. "'The Tractor and the Plough'- that was a good one." She scrunched her nose to confide, "Very romantic. Very Byronesque."

"Let me know when you're done. I'll be right here."

Her eyes flicked upwards as if she was having to think hard about it, "But I think it was for 'Sunset Beams and Railroad Dreams' that you took first prize in that year's prestigious Smallville High 'Poetry Corner' competition."

"'Cause if you want to talk about prestigious first prizes," he hunched his shoulders to his neck, "we can talk about prestigious first prizes."

She 'tsked', looking beatific. "I was wondering when we were going to get round to this."

"I thought I held out pretty well."

She nodded in agreement, "I'm not going to lie to you, I have to give you credit."

"If it's any consolation, I liked your piece best."

Flatly, Lois said, "Really."

"Yes."

"Did you even read it?"

"Yes. Did you read mine?"

"Yes."

"What did you think?"

"It was okay."

They said nothing, just allowed a series of charged looks to travel back-and-forth between them. Clark glanced away and cleared his throat, "Judges seemed to think so, too."

"Boom," Lois said. "Smallvilled."

Both failing to suppress amused grins, they fell into silence.

Lois broke it. "Lana. From before. She was in the yearbooks." She found his eyes, "You two were sweethearts?"

Clark nodded, "In high school. We dated."

"Was it serious?"

A half-smile, "As serious as teenagers get."

"Young love," Lois said. Her eyes traveled over his face.

He watched her watching him. "What?"

She shook her head, nothing. "I was checking for any signs of lingering feelings." She didn't elaborate.

"And?"

A line appeared between her eyebrows, "I don't think so."

"You seem surprised."

Sagely, Lois said, "You seem like you might be the type to mope."

It was clear Clark didn't agree. "I don't mope."

"I said you seem like you might be the type."

"What kind of type is that?"

"You know," Lois said, as if it were obvious. "You're a writer. You're predisposed to be more inward-looking, more internalized, more sensitive to the human condition than your average joe."

In the face of her clichés, Clark's expression remained unconvinced. She went on, "You just strike me as the kind of guy that could sit in the dark, in some foreign corner of the globe, and nurse a dying flame."

He frowned into the middle-distance, "I know there was a compliment struggling to get out, in there, somewhere..."

Lois shrugged apologetically, "From your work, I can tell that you're a pretty intense, passionate guy."

He found her eyes and held her gaze to tell her, "I have my moments."

Her eyes twinkled at him in response, "Just no mopey ones as yet."

They continued to stare at each other until Clark suddenly looked away. "Well. There was that one time. In Paris."

"Paris?"

"Paris," he nodded, solemnly. "Oh. Years ago, now. La Gare du Nord. She was Belgian, not French," Clark recalled. "It was late September. I remember an autumn mist was hanging, delicately, in the air."

Playing along, with the appropriate intensity on her face, Lois took up the narrative; "She left you, on the station platform, alone and bereft and broken-hearted."

His eyes glazed over, "She hurt me. She hurt me bad. I cried non-stop for about a week."

"What happened?" Lois whispered.

"Ticket inspector," he said. All pretensions of melodrama fell from Clark's face. "She wouldn't validate my travel card or accept my visa. I had to pay a five hundred franc penalty and hitchhike to Brussels."

A deep chuckle rocked Lois's shoulders. When they settled themselves, she sighed. "Okay, no old flames, then." Lois's throat tightened, and she hoped Clark couldn't tell. "What about in Afghanistan?"

"Afghanistan?"

As neutrally as possible, she asked, "Have you met anyone special?"

There was a careful pause, "The job- it's not exactly conducive to a committed relationship."

"So," she said, "you're not seeing anyone?"

"No." His eyes flicked to hers, "Are you?"

"No. Not right now, no."

There was a series of small polite nods at each other.

"I'm hoping that will change, though," Clark said. "Now that I'm nearly done over there."

"You're coming back to the States?"

"I've got five months left of a three year contract to run."

"Then what?"

"I was in meetings yesterday about it. Most of the last decade, I've spent away. It'll be nice to come home."

"Are you planning on sticking around for a while?"

Softly, he said, "I think I'd like that."

"Back in Gotham?"

"Maybe," Clark swayed his head a little. "Maybe not."

"Here?"

He looked amused by the suggestion. "I don't think so."

"You should come to Metropolis," Lois told him.

He cracked a crooked grin at her, "Slum it at the Daily Planet?"

"Journalism at the sharp end." The light in hers eyes danced, "No kindly billionaire dynasty bankrolling my city."

"Just an evil one."

"Luthor's a crook," Lois said, neither in disagreement or agreement, just as a statement of fact.

"Don't you get sent to a gulag for saying stuff like that."

"Luthor doesn't scare me. He's a bully." With confidence, and a certain set to her jaw, she shrugged, "He'll get his."

"He hasn't so far."

"He'll slip up. Sooner or later. Men like that always do."

"I met Lex Luthor once," Clark mused. "A benefit at Wayne Manor. What an asshole."

"See?" Lois beamed. "You'd fit right in." Her smile became more teasing. "I could show you the sights; Metro Square, Liberty, the top of the Emperor Building." She lifted an eyebrow, "You, me, and Andy."

Clark looked over to where they had met on the dancefloor. "Andy?"

"You know him?"

"He was in my Chem class."

Lois nodded. "He's in Metropolis now. He mentioned that several times." Her eyes crinkled at the edges, "I think he was angling for a date."

Wearing an expression of concern, Clark moved in an inch closer, "Well. I wouldn't want to step on any toes."

She moved in too. "To be completely honest with you," she frowned, "he's not really what I'm looking for in a man."

"No?"

"No."

"What are you looking for?"

The way he was looking at her, her heart was racing. "Smart, funny, and sexy- same as everybody else."

He seemed about to reply to that when he looked down in surprise, "Oh." Clark removed his hand from her waist, "I think you're vibrating."

It took Lois a moment to understand he was being literal, "My phone! Sorry." Out of her jeans pocket she pulled out her cell and read the I.D. "I better take this."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "I'll be here."

...

Lois threaded through the dancefloor in the direction of the back porch. Spying her, Lucy headed her off before she left the room. Her sister was carrying a tray loaded with little serving bowls of home-made ice cream, and she wanted to know if Lois had seen the kids.

"Not since they cut and ran and left me hand-jiving to myself," Lois called over her shoulder, showing Lucy her flashing cell to demonstrate she couldn't stop to chat.

Outside, where it was quiet, she put the phone to her ear, "Hey, Jimmy, what's up?"

"_Chief thought you might like to know- you weren't the only big name no-show tonight." _The excitement in Jimmy's voice was unmistakable._ "Get this, _Clark Kent's_ not here, either._"

"I know. He's here." Lois touched her lips together, "With me."

His drum-roll moment hijacked, Jimmy audibly deflated. "_What?_"

"He's here with me, in Kansas," Lois explained. "At my aunt's birthday party. Our families are friends, it turns out."

There was a pause. "_You're kidding_."

"No."

"_You and Clark Kent are in Kansas? Together? At a party_?"

Lois smiled, "Seems that way."

"_Clark Kent- from the Gazette?_"

"The one and the same."

"_Are you sure?_"

"Yes."

There was another, shorter pause. And then a worried, "_Are you okay?_"

Frowning, Lois stretched the word over two syllables, "Ye-ah?"

"_Have you talked to him?_"

"Clark? Yeah."

Jimmy clarified, "_No, I mean like in a one-on-one situation?_"

Wondering what he was getting at, she assured him, "Yes."

"_Does he know who you are?_"

Her frown deepened, her voice was more impatient, "Yes."

"_And you're okay?_"

"I'm fine, Jimmy."

"_I mean you haven't punched him across the face or anything?_"

She rolled her eyes. "So far, I've managed to keep things civil."

Jimmy's concern quickly dissolved into hero worship, "_That's so cool! What's he like?_"

"He's..." Lois's toe rubbed into the floorboards beneath her, "He's an impressive man."

"_Is he wearing his medal?_"

"Beg your pardon?"

"_His medal for gallantry- from Afghanistan._"

Lois stopped what she was doing. "Yes, Jimmy, pinned right there on his lapel. He wears it all the time. Along with a button that says 'I heart GC', and his twenty yard swim badge from 1985."

Another pause. "_Miss Lane?_"

"Yes, Jimmy?"

"_You're being sarcastic._"

She nodded and confirmed, "Yes, Jimmy."

"_I can't wait to tell the Chief! This is gonna crack him up._"

Lois swallowed. "Hey, Jim? Do me a favor?"

"_Sure._"

"Back when the shortlist was announced, and that Clark had won," Lois turned to make sure she was still alone, "Perry mentioned something that I was dismissive about and," she chewed on her bottom lip, "just tell him I've been thinking about it, and I was wrong, and I think his instincts were correct, okay?"

"_Okay_." Jimmy said simply.

"And tell him not to get a big head about that."

"_Okay_."

"Thanks."

"_Oops, gotta go. They're calling us through. Hope you and Mr Kent enjoy the rest of the night!_"

"I'm sure we will." She smiled warmly, "You too. I'll see you Monday."

She ended the call and inhaled a deep, calming breath. The air carried the sweet scent of apple blossom and cut grass. It was getting late and the light was fading against a clear summer sky. Above her, the eaves of the porch looked pretty, the white glow of the tiny lightbulbs starting to become more distinct. Clark must have switched them on. Beyond, a vermilion red circle of sun inched towards the line of trees.

She turned to go and get Clark, but stopped when she thought she heard something. She concentrated on listening.

The evening was still. Above the sound of the bassline inside and the chirp of crickets out, there was a discernible, "Pss!"

Her head cocked in the direction of the noise- somewhere in front, in the orchard.

"Pssss!" This time longer and louder and recognizably the voice of a young child.

From behind a thicket of blackberry bush, a small, shadowy figure stepped into view. Lois squinted, "Zach?"

Her nine year old nephew was beckoning for her to follow. She skipped off the porch. As soon as she had reached the cover of the first row of trees, he grabbed her hand. "What's going on?"

Zach pulled her deeper into the orchard where the grass was longer and thicker, stopping in front of a tree trunk that was twice the width of the others. His twin, Elizabeth, was waiting for them. Instinctively, Lois didn't like the expression on her niece's face.

Elizabeth said, "Hi aunt Lois."

Before Lois could respond, a voice above them piped, "Hi aunt Lois."

Lois's eyes tracked upwards, getting wider with the full comprehension of the situation. Perched between the crux of a Y-shaped bough, at least twenty feet up, just visible amongst the uppermost branches of the tree, her youngest niece, the seven year old, gave her a careful wave.

"Phoebe! How in the world did you get up there?"

Forlornly, honestly, Phoebe replied, "I climbed."

Lois pointed to the floor, "Well, you're going to have to climb back down. Right now." Her hands went to her hips, "Your mother's looking for you."

"I tried, aunt Lois. It was easier going up."

The twins were stood side-by-side looking upset and contrite. Lois eyed them, "You're going to have to go and help her."

"We can't reach." Zach pointed out a specific branch. It was some way below Phoebe and Lois could see that the branch directly above it- a stub in the direction of Phoebe- had snapped clean off. Elizabeth held up the broken end.

Lois rolled her eyes. "I'll go get your dad."

"No!"

The twins grabbed her wrists, one on each arm. Desperately Zach implored, "You can't tell anyone. We're not supposed to be out here. Not after what happened last year."

An eyebrow arched slowly. "What happened last year?"

Elizabeth rubbed at her left elbow. She mumbled, "I fell out."

They were treated to their aunt's silent head tilt of disappointment.

A dismembered voice said, "Aunt Lois?"

They all looked up. Lois said, "Yes?"

"I'm scared."

"Sweetie, everything's going to be okay." Lois rubbed her nose with a knuckle and finally declared, "We just need a ladder, or a rope, or something." Her eyes scanned the area, "This is an old orchard, right? There's bound to be a ladder somewhere."

To her consternation, in unison, the twins shook their heads. Elizabeth said, "There's this." With her shoe she prodded an old crate that was placed longways as close up against the base of the trunk as possible. It was about two feet high at best.

Lois's hands went back to her hips as she bowed her head. She glanced back in the direction of the party. From here the barn was within shouting distance. It was obscured by the trees and the foliage a little, but it was only about fifty yards away and you could just make out the lights.

She looked up, "Alright. Hang in there, Phoebs. I'll come get you."

With undisguised surprise, Zach said, "You?"

"Yes." Lois removed her phone from her pocket, pulled off one heeled sandal and then the other. "I've climbed trees before, Zach."

The twins watched her. She told them, "When your grandfather was based in Germany, your mom and I spent summers on the outskirts of the Black Forest. It's practically in our blood. Besides," she twisted her hair back into a ponytail, "it's one of those life skills you learn as a kid that you never forget; double dutch jump rope, handstands against the wall. Making a C90 mixtape," the confidence in Lois's tone faded as she sized up the trunk before her, "...riding a bike with no hands." She blew out a little breath, hitched the knees of her jeans and reached for the first branch.

Finding a toehold, she levered herself up off the ground with ease, and not only was the spectacle of an adult shinning up the bark of a tree a delightful novelty to Zach and Elizabeth, it was also impressive.

Lois managed to make it about ten feet and a third of the way up the tree before suitable points of purchase on the trunk ran out and she had to stop and sight-judge a new route up.

In conference with the twins below, it became clear she would have to edge out onto a bough that was level enough, but then split, with the one branch angling up to just beneath Phoebe, and try again from there.

Lois heaved herself onto the bough and in a sitting-up position with her legs either side, she hauled herself along an inch at a time, trying to ignore it when branches caught and scuffed at her hair and clothes.

Making sure she was balanced first, Lois reached where the bough diverted into two and gingerly rose off her feet, ballerina-style. There were thinner branches to hold onto for support and at her full height Lois brought her feet together to turn side on and come face to face with Phoebe.

To strangled whoops from below, they grinned at each other. "Hey kiddo."

In carefully choreographed fashion Phoebe moved herself off her bough and had attached herself tightly onto Lois's back when there was a high-pitched creaking noise beneath them. Lois stayed still, "That doesn't sound good."

"Aunt Lois, watch out!"

The bough she was standing on began to bend, warping downwards. As quickly as possible, Lois soft-shoe shuffled her feet sidewards against the tilt, "Wo-ah."

With a crack the bough started to splinter and give way. A critical point was reached and gravity wrenched it off the trunk. Grabbing what she could to remain upright, Lois was able to get her tiptoes onto the thin rimmed ledge of bough that remained. It meant she ended up suspended at an angle, both arms out, as if poised at any moment to use the branches above like a trapeze, and fling herself and Phoebe out into the orchard.

She breathed, "Don't move!"

On the ground, Zach and Elizabeth edged forward to regard the fallen branch, torn and split, with its unripened apples pockmarking the grass, hardly daring to look up again.

Phoebe whimpered, burying her face between Lois's shoulder blades.

"Everything's going to be fine, just as long as we don't move."

Phoebe was done with being brave, "We're stuck!"

"We're not stuck!" Lois insisted. "We just... momentarily have to stay in one place."

Below, she could see Elizabeth and Zach's worried faces. Lois weighed up their options. "Maybe I could hang and drop," she mused quietly. "Can't be that far to the ground, right? Make sure I keep my weight forward, broken ankle- max."

At her ear there was a trembly, "W-what?"

Caught, Lois blinked, "Nothing, I'm just thinking out loud."

"We'll be trapped forever."

It took about half a second for Lois to make her decision.

"Kids, listen to me. You need to go back inside, and this is what you have to do."

...

From his vantage point at one corner of the dessert table, Clark checked his watch again and tried to not stare at the door. His heart jumped when it finally opened, but it wasn't her, it was her sister's kids coming back in. He settled back against the wall and re-picked up a bottle of beer just so he had something to do with his hands. When he looked back up, two of Lucy's children, the twins, were stood to his side.

"Hi Clark."

"Hey kids. Your mom's looking for you."

The children appeared to take a simultaneous gulp.

The boy, Zach, had an intense expression on his face. "My aunt needs you."

...

It could only have been a couple of minutes, but Zach and Elizabeth seemed to have been gone an age. The physical effort of holding both herself and Phoebe up and not moving was starting to become painful when Phoebe exclaimed, "They're coming!"

Lois dangled her head in relief. Because of the angle she was stuck at, she couldn't see, but Phoebe was able to greet their approach, "Hi Clark!"

In his familiar warm voice, Lois heard him say, "Hi Phoebe."

She scrunched her eyes. "Hi Clark."

Below, he positioned himself so they had a clear view of each other. "Hey."

She smiled weakly.

"You're up a tree, there, Lois."

"Yes. My rescue operation went a little awry."

"You know," he told her, "that breaks the number one rule of emergency assistance."

"Gee, Clark. I'll remember to remind you of that the next time you decide to jump in front of a sniper's bullet."

He cocked his head at her.

"We're stuck!"

Clark nodded at Phoebe. Calmly, he turned away, "I'll go get your-"

He was stopped mid-stride by a chorused, "No!"

Elizabeth pleaded, "You can't tell anyone."

Lois's expression was apologetic, "That's why I ended up here."

The adults shared a look. Then Clark glanced around and everyone understood, now he was complicit too. "This is an orchard. There must be a ladder somewhere."

Above him, Lois chimed, "A reasonable, yet erroneous, assumption."

The twins were shaking their heads no.

Clark gave himself a moment. Before running off, he called up, "I've got an idea. Just hang on, okay. Two more minutes."

Lois rolled her lips. To herself she muttered, "'Hang on', he says. No problem."

The next thing they heard was the distinctive chugging sound of a diesel engine coming round the side of the barn. An ancient Chevrolet pickup picked a route through the trees until Clark had lined up the cab of the truck exactly beneath Lois.

Lois's grin of relief got wider and wider as he turned off the engine and made short work of using a steel keg to step up from the bed of the truck to the roof of the cab. At this height, he was waist-level with Lois. If he stood on his toes, at full-stretch, her hips were almost within touching distance.

They exchanged pleasantries before organizing how best to pass down Phoebe. On a count of three Phoebe released her grip from Lois's back and slid round sideways. Clark took the little girl easily in his outstretched arms, "There we go."

He clambered down with her on his back and delivered her to her brother and sister.

Above them, the tree shook and they took cover against blossom petals and several small, green apples, as more branches around Lois snapped. With difficulty, Lois managed to bite back the swear words and maintain balance by hanging one foot in the air as she braced her body into a new, more awkward position. The tree settled again.

"You alright?"

"Yes. Just, you know," she breathed. "Please hurry."

Clark climbed back up to the roof of the cab. "I'm going to reach up and support you by the waist, okay?"

Lois looked uncertain. "Are you sure you can handle my weight?"

"I'm pretty sure."

"Because I'm sturdier than I look," she warned.

Although his expression could not have been more serious, she would remember later that she had seen amusement creep into his eyes, and that for some reason this had made her feel better.

"I'm pretty sturdy, myself." His hands reached out to her. "Ready?"

She nodded. "Clark?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't drop me."

"Lois?"

"Yes?"

"Just trust me."

"I do," her eyes closed. "I do."

She took a deep breath and stepped off from the trunk, letting her legs fall away into nothingness. Clark caught her at her waist and brought her tightly into his body.

"Oh." She released her grip from the tree and fell fully into him. He grabbed her and they ended up pressed against each other, Clark trying not to overbalance backwards and allow momentum to take them both off the roof of the cab.

When they were steady and safe and she had regained her breath, she came away from him enough to find his eyes.

He was smiling softly at her, arms wrapped around her middle, "I've got you."

He went first, helping her off the roof, then down to the ground where the kids were waiting to pull them into a group hug.

Phoebe was exclaiming, "My legs are tingly!"

Lois touched the little girl's head, "Mine too, sweetheart."

"Come on. I'm starving." Without ceremony, Zach handed over Lois her shoes and phone and started to lead the way back to the barn.

"We've probably missed the food," Lois heard Elizabeth scowl, but the girls followed anyway.

In order, three voices called out, "Thanks, Clark!"

"Thanks, Clark!"

"Thanks, Clark!"

Lois and Clark watched them scamper inside. She shook out her hair and turned to face him, "Thanks, Clark."

In the twilight of the orchard, they grinned at each other. She watched his expression change with interest.

"What?"

"You seem to have an unerring habit of getting yourself into some pretty sticky situations, Miss Lane." As if the band-aid on her face wasn't enough, with his finger tips he brushed away a fragment of leaf from the lock of hair behind her ear.

She could feel her heartbeat accelerating but she kept her eyes on his as she told him, "You seem to have an unerring habit of rescuing me."

The atmosphere thickened. His eyes weren't blue anymore, they were dark, and clouded, and focusing on her lips. "Good job I'm around."

"Good job," Lois agreed, barely above a whisper.

Eyes half-lidded, he was leaning in and she was too. She could feel his breath on her skin, they were so close. "I think, in the future, I should probably be around you more."

She managed a nod, "I think. I think that's a good idea."

And then their lips met and she had flung her shoes away to run her hands through his hair. He lifted her off the ground and up against the truck, their hips grinding into each other, desperately seeking relief from the exquisite pressure building there.


	4. Chapter 4

**-Chapter Four-**

They kissed greedily, frantically, jerking and bucking, pawing at clothing. She was pinned against the side of the pickup with her legs hooked around his waist and it meant her hands were free to touch and explore. She cupped his face, ran her fingers down his neck, delighted in pushing her palms over his shoulders, arms, chest, anywhere she wanted, feeling the shapes and tensions of muscles underneath his shirt she had barely been able to imagine.

Clark went to unbutton her shirt, his fingers and knuckles brushing against her breasts and Lois moaned her encouragement into his mouth. Her hands found the waistband of his jeans, then belt buckle, and she was working on getting it open when a voice cut through the haze.

"Lois! Are you out here?"

At first they didn't bother to stop.

"Lo-is!" Lucy yodeled, louder. "Is that you?"

Lois broke away, letting her head rest against the cool metal of the truck. She had to wait a moment so she could answer on an exhalation and be steady. "Yes!"

"Is everything okay?"

Clark dropped his lips back to her skin and she felt him smile against her neck. In between breaths, she called, "Everything's fine."

"Is that Martha's truck, out there?"

She swallowed, trying to concentrate. Clark had started to trail a line of kisses down her throat. "Yes."

"What are you doing?"

Lois looked skyward. She yelled out a strangled, "I'm with Clark!"

From the barn, there was silence. "Oh."

Lois called back, "He's showing me the old orchard."

"Oh. Okay." Another stretched silence. "I. I just came to say that we're having the cake." A few more awkward moments dragged by. "I'm going now."

"We'll be right there."

Her sister called a polite bye and they were alone again. Clark released her and a little shakily Lois put both feet to the ground. They began to refasten open clothing.

"She's always had that sense of impeccable timing. It's a gift, really."

"I'm just going to need a minute before I go back in there."

Catching his sheepish grin, her eyes fell and, understanding, she whispered a heartfelt, "Sorry."

He shook his head, no. "I should have told you before. I mean, I wanted to tell you." They locked eyes. "What you do to me." She saw his throat bob. "You're incredibly beautiful."

Lois blushed and smiled and, overcome again, they touched heads and laughed softly together when Clark told her he was going to need another minute.

...

By the time they had returned to the barn they had missed Moira blowing out her candles and the party had restarted, the DJ introducing his last set of the night. Taking her by the hand, Clark led Lois into the middle of everybody to dance with her again. This time, when the songs got slower, Lois looped her arms lazily around Clark's neck and he held her close on her waist. They didn't talk much, and when they did, it was with lingering whispers, into the ear. No one cut in.

At midnight, one by one, the lights in the room went back up and guests began the process of wishing Moira a last 'happy birthday' before drifting home. Around them, Lois and her family began to clean up.

Martha and Clark stayed to help stack chairs and sweep the floor. Lois and Clark were given the job of going out to the porch and taking down the lights.

The Sullivans lived about fifteen minutes away from the orchard, with the Kent farm another twenty minute drive farther out. When Martha offered everyone a ride home in the old Chevy, Lucy's kids jumped at the chance.

Gabe and Moira took their place in front with Martha. Everyone else climbed into the back to ride in the open air. Lucy and David snuggled up together in one corner while the other adults sat apart, each with a small child nestling in their lap. The truck ambled slowly through town, its pitch and yaw lulling the children into sleepiness. It was a balmy summer night, moonlit and blue. Clark and Lois sat on opposite sides and Clark was unable to take his eyes off her, and the way the breeze nudged at her hair.

...

When Martha pulled up outside the Sullivan's place, everyone got out to hug and exchange warm, quiet, goodbyes.

As they had done almost exactly a day before, Lois and Clark came together to say goodnight.

"So."

"So."

They traded goofy smiles. Lois's teeth caught at her bottom lip.

"I'll pick you up at ten?"

Lois nodded. "Should I bring anything?"

Clark shook his head. "Just yourself."

Neither moved. Lois brought herself to say, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

There was a self-conscious, stop-start lean in towards each other that ended in a sweet and tender capture of lips.

It provoked a catcall of low whistles and exaggerated smooching sounds from the front porch. They sighed together as Lois patted her hands down the front of Clark's shirt. "You'll have to excuse me." Grim-faced, she said, "I have to go and kill my family now."

He nodded, "Okay." Equally serious, he advised, "Just stay away from the sharp objects. I know how you are."

She kissed him quickly, stuck her tongue out at his impertinence, and walked up to the house.

...

The next morning was bright and busy with the Sullivan household up early. They returned to the Apple Orchard to pick up leftover bags of garbage and retrieve cars. When they got home, Moira made pancakes for breakfast.

Despite her best efforts not to clock watch, at ten a.m. precisely Lois was excusing herself from the table and skipping to the front door even almost before Clark had finished his knock. When she opened the door to let him in, for a few moments they were fifteen years old again, unreasonably flustered and excited simply by the sight and physical presence of each other. Clark was wearing a plain white t shirt and a pair of long khaki shorts with sandals. He recognized Lois's short-sleeved summer dress from the night they had met.

Stepping inside, he asked her, "Ready?"

She pointed to the sunglasses he was wearing on top of his head. "I'll go grab my things."

She disappeared up the stairs. Clark put his hands behind his back to wait. When he looked back down the hall he saw David had popped his head in from a doorway. Clark rocked on his feet and called hey.

"Hey." David came forward, looking uncomfortable. They could hear Lois moving upstairs. "Can we have a quick word?"

...

Lois had her window rolled down, her sunglasses on, and the wind ruffling through her hair. Beyond her, flanking them on either side, rolling green fields of heavy-headed corn stalks stretched out to the horizon and were met there by a wide, blue sky.

She tried to be reasonable. "But I don't _know_ anywhere. Everywhere would be a surprise to me."

"Exactly," Clark agreed, without taking his eyes off the road.

"So you can tell me."

"What would be the point?"

"So I'd know."

"But you don't know anywhere."

Her fingers swished in a U shape through the air, "So you can tell me."

Clark glanced across, "It'd just be a name. It wouldn't mean anything."

"But I'd know."

"In the abstract."

Lois frowned. He was obviously not getting this; "But I'd know."

Clark's expression and tone turned interested. "It clearly makes you antsy. The not-knowing."

Lois scowled. To compound her displeasure with the accurate and insightful nature of his character assessment, Clark added, "I like it when you're antsy."

It didn't help much when he threw in a cursory, "Just a little further, I promise."

...

Just a little further turned out to be another hour's drive along the back roads of rural Kansas. Clark pointed out places of interest and told her when they were coming up to the spot where they had met, but he would not be drawn on a destination. Lois didn't complain. Clark was intractable but the weather and the countryside were glorious. Open expanses of golden wheat; wide, sweeping, fields tilled neatly into corn rows; boundless grassy prairies dotted with wildflowers, passed, resplendent, outside her window.

Without an obvious sign for a turn, or an indication that there was a navigable entry of any kind, they were about a mile down a wooded access road when Clark slowed and turned again. He guided the pickup over an old cattle grid and uphill along a dirt track hedged in by a tunnel of overgrown tree branches and leaves. Lois rolled up her window, the branches scratched at the Chevy's paintwork and progress became slow. Several times the way ahead was almost totally obscured. Lois shot Clark a look, but he seemed undisturbed and to know exactly where he was going.

Eventually, they cleared the track and broke into daylight. Clark parked under the shade of a grove of trees that edged one side of a sloped, sparse area of weeds and coarse scrub.

Rather than answer Lois's look of inquiry, Clark encouraged her to step out of the cab and help him with the supplies he had brought. She remained skeptical but followed and proffered her arms anyway, into which he handed two thick rolled-up blankets. He lifted out an impressive-looking picnic basket and, hand-in-hand, they continued uphill to where the gentle slope became more pronounced and turned into a ridge.

When they reached the top of the ridge, they stopped. They both removed their sunglasses. For a second, Lois was lost for words.

"Wow." Beneath them, on the other side, the ridge rolled back down and became a small, sun-drenched meadow. A river that was wide but slow-moving ran through the meadow. Daises and pale yellow primroses, and other wildflowers Lois couldn't name decorated the banks in the full rainbow of colors. "So where are we?"

"Schickle's Creek."

"Wow." Clark was watching her. She turned to him, "So where are we?"

He chuckled, a broad, pleased grin on his face because of the look on her face. They set off down towards the water, to where the branches of an old sycamore tree created an area of dappled shade on the riverbank and the grass was shorter.

"Schickle's Creek. It's a tributary of a tributary that eventually joins the Missouri, I guess. Smallville would be about," Clark slowed to tip his head in a sideways direction, "eighty, ninety miles that way. The next town over is about," he frowned before flicking his thumb to the other side, "fifty miles that way. And _that_," he said, emphasizing the word, "puts us just about in the middle of the county." They stopped walking because they had reached the tree. He raised an eyebrow at her, "So now you know."

They chose a patch of grass that was even and set down the blankets and the basket. Lois dropped her purse and they laid their sunglasses on top. Putting her hands to her back she surveyed what was before her, giving the place the once-over. "This is some picnic spot, Clark."

He was also taking in the view. He nodded. "It's sort of idyllic, right?"

"It's beautiful," Lois said, simply. She eyed him, "Secluded." She lifted her eyebrow, "Come here often?"

Clark missed her look. "We used to," he said, absently, still casting his eyes over the area. "It's been a long time. It hasn't changed at all."

The nostalgia in his tone had her frowning. She thumbed at the trunk of the tree behind her and teased, "I'm not going to find, like, a carved heart with Lana's initials in it, am I?"

Clark turned to her, confused, and then he couldn't help smiling and told her he doubted it. He shrugged, glancing at the floor, "Maybe an old fishing hook, a piece of cork, something like that." He explained, "My father used to bring me here. We used to camp, fish, build a fire." Clark looked up to the sky, "He'd teach me about the stars." Lois watched him sigh. Almost as if only just realizing, he said, "I haven't been back here since he died." He met her gaze, "Nobody else knows about it."

They were quiet. "It's beautiful."

She saw his expression change, starting in his eyes. The wistfulness disappeared, and was replaced by something altogether more immediate and vital.

With a smile playing at appearing, he echoed her, "Secluded."

Lois looked round in one direction, then the other. Then she squinted at him. "Not another house fifty miles either way, you were saying?"

Clark nodded. "At least."

There was a quirk of her bottom lip. "We're alone."

Clark glanced around too. He lifted an arm from his side. "The ants. Small animals, critters." He looked up, "The birds and the bees."

Lois tucked her shoulders, walked a couple of steps in so she was stood right next to him. "But I mean, the nearest potential person, human being..." She trailed off.

"I guess there might be a hiker somewhere in the vicinity. A day-tripper, maybe. A farmer, possibly," Clark allowed, keeping his eyes on her. "Although, it's mostly open range."

"The chances of anyone finding us here..." Again, she didn't bother to finish the thought, just let it dangle, provocatively.

"Statistically?" Clark said, "Extremely unlikely."

"Say," with a concerned expression, Lois pushed then pulled her fingers apart, rolled her lips, "my sister?"

Light danced in his eyes. "Extremely unlucky."

Standing opposite him, she repeated, "We're alone."

He confirmed, "Pretty much."

"So." She reached out and touched him lightly on the middle of the chest, then ran her fingers down the indentation there to the muscles of his stomach, her eyes following the movement. "If I was to take off my dress right now, and make love to you?" Her eyes lifted to meet his. They were liquid.

"I was kind of counting on it."

...

They made love together, the first time, with the same frenzied urgency that had taken hold in the orchard the night before. They rolled around in the grass until Lois ended up on top of him, rocking to a climax, throwing her head back and letting out a base cry of pleasure that disturbed the family of house sparrows that had been settling in on the branches above.

After that, they were slower. They spread out the blankets and luxuriated in the slowness. Teasing him, with her hands and her mouth she worked her way over every part of his body. When it was his turn, Clark laid Lois back and dragged his kisses across her skin until it was too much for them both and she pulled him to her and he sank into her again.

Clark put his shorts back on and Lois slipped into his t shirt to have some lunch. Clark had made sandwiches, and sliced up some cucumber and carrot to eat with a pot of Martha's homemade hummus. They sipped at root beer and managed some bites of sandwich each before they distracted themselves with the food and ended up smearing the hummus, and then the filling of an apple pie, and then whatever else they could find that was suitable, onto available skin, and licking it off.

To clean off Clark suggested a swim in the creek. He waded in to his chest while Lois sat back and admired the view. She was suspicious but Clark persuaded her that the water was lovely by lying to her. When she told him thanks but she would see for herself and came down to the water to demurely dip a toe, Clark thrust forward and bodily scooped her around the waist, pulling her in with him.

They made love in the water. They made love out of the water. On a couple of occasions, they were splayed, up against the bank, halfway between both. Every time, as she was pushed over the edge and the release came, the same feelings flooded Lois. A sense of bone-deep satisfaction, and a completeness in her heart so thorough and profound, she marveled that she had never noticed the missing piece in the first place.

...

The branches of the sycamore tree moved on the breeze. Laying beside each other on one blanket, half-covered by the other, in the shadows and the sun of the late afternoon, they watched, but didn't really pay attention to, the shapes the movement created.

Lois had her head resting against his chest, the waves of her hair spilling around her shoulders and over his skin. Her left hand followed the lines and defined muscles of his abdomen. Clark was rubbing his fingertips in a slow, deliberate line up and down her spine. The sensation was mesmerizing.

"I could do this all day. I could do this forever."

His breathing was so deep and regular she thought he might be falling asleep, but he responded, "'Time slows for me, but nature and her mistresses remain indifferent.'"

She frowned, "That's beautiful."

He agreed. "I know."

"Where's that from?"

"Verse twelve. 'The Tractor and the Plough'."

She burst out laughing and they giggled until they were propped up on elbows, nose to nose. She tried to look put out but ended up shaking her head at him.

"So this means I'm three for three, right?"

Her forehead creased at the boyish grin he was giving her.

"Smart, funny and sexy."

Her lips skewed thoughtfully. "I'm going to level with you, Clark." Both eyebrows raised, "I'm feeling kind of bad right now."

His eyebrows formed a straight line.

"For every woman that ever had a chance with you before me." She reached to him, her eyes mapping his face. He was so handsome, it was impossible. Underlining her point, she combed his hair back with her hand, "And allowed you to slip through their fingers."

"Don't get too upset." He fixed her with a deadpan look; "The screaming hordes were few. And I was always at least fifty per cent involved in the decision."

She huffed at his flippancy. "You know what I mean. That Lana girl. I'd be kicking myself."

More serious now, he scrutinized her. "That's not how it works, though, is it? A spark, a connection," his eyes darted around, searching, "chemistry." He blinked, his focus back on her. "It's either there or it's not. I don't think you can force these things."

"I'm just saying, if that was me, I don't think I would've let you go." A line of concentration marked the gap between her eyebrows. "I don't think I could've."

Clark grinned, "If that was you, we'd be-" He stopped, caught himself in time, and amended, "Most probably right here."

Intrigued, two dark eyes sparkled at him, "All possible paths lead to this point?"

Clark told her, "All possible paths lead to you."

One eyebrow went up. "If it hadn't been for that lightning strike-"

"We would've met at the party, last night."

She smiled, "If it hadn't been for the party last night?"

Confidently, steadily, Clark set her straight. "We would've met in Gotham City, in the executive suite of the Sheldon Hotel, at the National Press Association's awards dinner. Where I," he elongated the word before giving her his best effort at debonair, "would've asked you to dance."

She rested back, crossing her arms, tucking them behind her head and staring into space. "I was thinking about that. I was wondering what I would've thought of you."

He watched her. "Did you come to any conclusions?"

She breathed in and out through her nose, sighing in definitive fashion on the exhale. "I think it would have played out a lot like this."

"A demand to see some personal identification, ending with torrid picnic sex?"

Her eyes rolled, no! She cycled one hand over in a methodical gesture, relaying her opinion in the same careful way Holmes might've recounted the finer points of a case that had passed Watson by; "I would've arrived at the dinner inwardly seething whilst outwardly," she paused, "...not so seething. Some minor flunky would've pointed you out to me and I would've convinced myself that it was not that I found you devastatingly attractive, so much as it was," one finger pushed in the air as her eyes narrowed, "I was _caught off guard_ by the fact that you turned out _to be_ devastatingly attractive." She gestured with her hand again, "Then, I would've actually, you know, met you, and I would've melted."

"I think I would've enjoyed that."

She tilted her head to him. "I think I would've enjoyed seeing you in a tux."

"I think I would've enjoyed you getting me out of a tux."

"_I_ think I would've enjoyed me getting you out of a tux."

He picked up her hand to hold it to his lips and kiss it. "And here we are."

"So, that's it, then." The backs of her fingers rubbed against his cheek. "Fate."

"Mmm hmm."

She took her hand back so she could lean her head on it and turn fully to him. "Everything that happens, happens as it should."

He saw where her eyes looked, followed them, observed the careful, pointed, expression that had entered them, and he reflected it back at her. "In this case."

"What about in this case?" With her free hand she reached out, touched her fingertips to the discolored mark on his skin, just above the clavicle, on his left shoulder. It was pink and puckered, the size and shape of a thumbprint.

"'All things are in fate, yet not all things are decreed by fate.'"

She circled the mark with her middle finger. "Aristotle, again?"

"Close."

"'The Tractor and the Plough'?"

One corner of his mouth twitched. "Plato."

She smiled, 'close', then hunched nearer. "Does it hurt?"

Solemn, Clark shook his head. "It turns blue when a storm front's moving in from the west, though."

She threw him a look, but the expression in his eyes was not quite apologetic.

She said, "What does it feel like?"

"Now? It's scar tissue. I guess I've lost a little sensitivity there."

She continued to caress the spot, now using the pads of her fingertips to test and understand the way the wound had healed. "Can you feel this?"

Clark nodded.

"What about this?" She stretched and bent her head to hold her mouth over his skin and replace the movements of her fingers by brushing him there only with her lips.

He nodded again, murmured a low noise of approval.

"What about when it happened." She stayed there, at the wound, touched her nose to it. "What did it feel like?"

"What did it feel like getting shot?"

She nodded.

He sighed slowly. His fingers tangled themselves idly at the end of a lock of her hair. "I didn't feel anything at first. I mean I felt the impact and I knew I'd been hit. But I could still move, run for cover. Once the adrenaline wore off, then it was excruciatingly painful."

She rolled back down so she could find his eyes and look at him, and check that it was okay. "How did it happen?"

She needn't have worried. His eyes were alive with the same self-possessed half-amusement with which he seemed to regard life in general and which she was quietly realizing she adored. "It was just a routine patrol. A night time drive-by between JTF bases in Kabul. I was riding in the back of an armored SUV with six guys from the unit. It's not considered particularly dangerous. I've done it many times."

She couldn't help frowning at him. He carried on, "It was quiet and so cold you could see the breath in front of our faces. Then all hell broke loose. A bomb went off to our left and our driver swerved to keep us upright. Probably saved all our lives. He was a local kid, fresh out of the training center at Bagram. There was a shout to take cover, so we did, but by that time we were already caught up in a fire-fight."

"Were you safe?"

"I was on my own but I was fine. Hunkered down behind a wall. I heard something between the gunshots and looked, and there he was, the driver, in the middle of the road, calling for help, trying to crawl away."

"You saved him."

"I panicked," Clark told her. "I thought somebody must've seen him. But there were bullets everywhere, in the air, hitting the dirt, and there was no one else around. I didn't even think about it."

Her eyes gazed into his. Serenely, Lois said, "'The recipient then distinguished himself by his actions, disregarding the danger to his own life by breaking cover and sprinting to ANA Private Haji Mohammed Shah. While attending to Private Shah, Mr Kent was shot in his upper torso. Ignoring the wound, Mr Kent carried Private Shah to safety. For this act of extraordinary bravery, the Government of the Islamic Republic of Afghanistan is honored to award Mr Kent its highest civilian decoration.'"

Clark was taken aback. "You read my medal citation?"

"About a month ago. After six months of trying." One eyebrow arched. "A tricky thing to get a hold of."

"I wouldn't sign the release forms. When they found out about the whole thing the State Department got grumpy and their PR guys leaned on the Gazette. That's how the paper found out."

Confused by what she was hearing, Lois blinked a couple of times in succession. "You didn't tell the Gazette that you got shot?"

"The bullet went straight through. I was out of the hospital in ten days. I didn't miss a deadline."

Processing, she blinked again. She frowned, "How long-"

"Before anyone knew? Three months. That was the turnaround between Haji filing an initial report and the Afghan government sending me official notification."

A wry smile crooked her lips. "And how did your bosses feel about that?"

Clark nodded, "They were pretty grumpy. Then I got grumpy. But I compromised; told my editor I'd allow the paper to run a story, on the condition I write it myself."

"Seems sensible." She narrowed her eyes, "So why didn't you?"

Clark's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Your article. Your famous article," she said. "You talked, in detail, about the dangers facing front-line troops, the changing nature of the conflict, the wider geopolitical ramifications. You even allude to a brief spell of hospitalization. But I checked the small print." Correctly, she told him, "You never actually mention that you got shot."

After a short pause, Clark agreed, "No."

"I bet your editor loved that."

Clark inhaled through the nose. "We had some conversations. In the end, I think he understood."

"Now I want to understand."

"Understand what?"

"What you just told me; about the incident itself. The ambush and the bullets- why didn't you write about it?"

She could see he was unsure what she was getting at. "I did."

She flicked her hand, "I'm not talking about the follow-up pieces. Back then. That first article."

He said nothing.

"Why didn't you go to the Sheldon last night?"

Clark shrugged, "I was here."

"I mean in the first place."

Steadily, he replied, "My mother's cooking."

Lois huffed out a sigh, frustrated by his attitude. Clark told her, "I'm not trying to be facetious." His shoulders hunched, "I don't care about industry-led, backslapping, love-ins. I especially don't care about being the star attraction in them."

She rolled her eyes at such a pat answer. "Why does it make you so uncomfortable?"

He stared back at her, an intense expression on his face. It was the most serious she had ever seen him. "If it's in the interests of the integrity of an article, I'm fully prepared to use a harrowing personal experience- but in general terms; as a context, as an angle. Anything more than that, and it's not journalism anymore." His jaw set. "It's exploitation."

She matched the look in his eyes. "I guess it depends on where you draw the line."

"Yes."

Thoughtfully, she suggested, "I guess it depends on the writing."

"I guess it does."

"It's still a great story."

"It's not a great story. It's a sexy story."

"That's what I meant."

His expression had softened, but Clark's tone remained undeterred and earnest. "In Afghanistan, in the towns, in the hills, GIs out on duty, villagers in their homes. People get shot every single day," his eyebrows flickered, "and worse." His lips were drawn into a straight line. "Better people than me."

An uncomplicated "Yes," was her answer to him. "But not everybody can write about it, shine a light, hold a focus, give something- an idea, a better way, a fairer way- a voice." She spoke to him, soft and intent. "We have a platform- that's our privilege. That's what we can do." She smiled. "That's what you did."

His eyes searched hers. "I reacted. It was a reflex. Instinct."

"Yes."

"If it happened all over again, maybe I run the other way, away from the driver, back to the unit. No one wants to give me a reward or a medal then."

"No."

He smiled at the absurdity. "I'm the same guy, Lois."

She answered, emphatically, yes. "And if it happened all over again- that's why you'd run out in front of the guns and take a bullet in the shoulder."

He shook his head, a brief, small gesture of dissatisfaction.

"I'm not trying to make you feel better," she scolded, gently. "Don't over-think it. You were called upon to do something difficult and brave, and you did." Her shoulder lifted, "Maybe next time you don't, this time you did. Accept the accolades, the ticker tape from a grateful society. And if it doesn't reflect on you, it reflects on them. Besides," she paused, glanced away, "I don't think it's so bad. You got shot- however you feel about it, it means you're a real life hero, someone for people to look up to," her eyes fell back onto his, they were dancing, "and also that you'll always be associated as that guy who only won at the NPAs out of the sympathy vote..."

She squeaked as he grabbed her to him, wrestled her over, and held himself above her.

Their eyes shined at each other. She lifted her hand to neaten up his side-parting.

"What did you think of my article when you read it. Tell me honestly."

She was frowning, but she smiled. "Why?"

"It matters to me what you think."

She sighed deeply. "It was a stunning piece of writing, Clark. I like to think that if I had experienced the same thing, I could've written something like it."

...

The day had slipped into early evening and the heat had worn off before, reluctantly, they decided they had better get back. They both had flights to make.

Having already spent some time retrieving scattered items of clothing from where they had been thrown, including a short, informal, ceremony to administer the last rites to the pair of panties they guessed must have floated downstream, Lois stopped in the middle of packing the picnic basket. She held up the empty hummus jar. "This has all been extremely kinky."

Fully dressed, Clark straightened, a rolled blanket in his hands. "This is not a usual Sunday afternoon for you?"

Mulling it over, with a frown Lois admitted, "I don't think I ever had sex outside before."

They looked at each other. "Me either."

She swayed a little on the spot. "I'm not the kind of girl that usually-" She stopped, and instead just showed him the jar. "I'm not that kind of girl."

They began to make their way back up to the ridge, and the pickup. They didn't hold hands this time, and they were quiet as they walked. Although not entirely comfortable, it was not an awkward silence either. So much had happened, it seemed natural that the atmosphere between them was heavier and thoughtful, and threaded through with anticipation.

As they approached the truck, Clark gave Lois a sideways glance. "Back at the house this morning."

She looked over.

"David wanted to speak to me. In private."

"About what?"

"You."

At that she looked puzzled.

"With your father not around, I guess, as the head of the family I think he felt responsible," Clark explained. They eyed each other. "He wanted to know if my intentions towards you were honorable."

"Oh dear," Lois said, both in sympathy and alarm. "I hope you lied."

"I thought it might be bad form to admit I'd been fantasizing about getting you in bed since the second I met you, so."

Her head bobbed once in relief. "Good." Another sticky thought arose, "Where did you tell him we were going, today?"

They had arrived at the back of the truck. "A ride out for a picnic at a local beauty spot."

She nodded again, "Good."

Clark loaded the truck. "I didn't lie about everything, though."

She regarded him with a fresh look of concern.

He was making sure everything in the truckbed was secure. "When he asked about my intentions. I told him that I'd never met anyone like you. I told him that I didn't think I ever would again, and I assured him that if someone, ever, in whatever shape, form, or size, even tried to take advantage of you, they would have to get through me first." Clark flipped up the tailgate and found her eyes. _This_ was the most serious she had ever seen him. The blue eyes burned. "Because I didn't really see a future without you."

Lois absorbed all this with apparent composure, but inside she was reeling. "Oh."

"I mean, I told him I didn't know how you felt about it. Us. Which would obviously..." She could see he was trying to read her, to be respectful to her, to establish where the safe ground was in the new landscape he had laid out before them, "change things."

"Obviously."

The muscles in his jaw worked. "It wouldn't change how I feel."

Without being aware of it, she had been nodding, and she stopped. "How do you feel?"

He was gazing at her. Almost imperceptibly, a dark eyebrow twitched. "I'm in love with you."

A big, cheesy, grin lit up Lois's face as a deeply drawn, self-satisfied sigh escaped her and she folded her arms around his neck.

For Clark, the relief was overwhelming. His arms brought her closer as he helpfully offered, "That's where you say it back."

Delighted, she closed her eyes, quirked her head; "Smallvilled." She raised her eyebrows, "You're pretty sure of my feelings on the matter afterall, then?"

His hands traveled up over the curves of her waist and down again. He leaned in, telling her lips, "I'm taking into account circumstantial evidence."

They kissed, slowly and deeply. His mouth moved from hers to her neck.

With her head back and her eyes closed, Lois had to concur, "The evidence is compelling."

Clark drew back. There was a marveled expression on his face. "You're not going to say it, are you?"

Lois tilted her head to one side and squinted. "It clearly makes you antsy. The not-saying."

He rolled his eyes.

Her nose scrunched, "- I like it when you're antsy."

They let go of each other to climb into the truck. Lois practically swaggered up to her door.

"Anyway. It's just so you know." Clark settled himself behind the wheel. "I'm not that kind of boy, either."

Next to him, she was still beaming. "You wanted me since the second you met me, huh?" She was relishing it. "I knew it."

"You were wet through and half naked." Clark turned the key in the ignition, tipped his head to throw her a look; "I'm a red-blooded man, Lois."

"You want to know the truth?" The smugness in her tone had leveled away.

The engine was running but Clark kept his hand on the handbrake, instead watched her watching him.

"Opening your car door, saying goodnight outside my aunt's house-" she moved her head, "the first time."

Lost, Clark said, "Opening my car door, what?"

"Opening your car door," Lois repeated. "That's when I knew I was in trouble. Saying goodnight outside my aunt's house-" She blinked. She was full of grace. "That's when I knew I was in love with you."

It was as if a series of alignments and variables and interlocking vertices had suddenly fallen, placidly and unquestionably, into the correct correspondence. For a moment or two they wallowed in the delicious and definitive sense of it.

"This is a long-haul thing for me. You know that?"

Her eyes were soft and wry. "Long distance, too."

"For the first few months."

"Metropolis to Gotham. Either way, it's a hell of a commute."

"I guess that's why it wouldn't make sense to work in Gotham."

Off her look, Clark added, "That's if the offer's still open?"

She was working hard to keep a smile of unadulterated glee from her face. "I better talk to my editor. Make sure there's a spot."

"You think I have a chance?"

"Got your eye on any gig in particular?"

"A desk in the bullpen would be great," Clark admitted. "There's a reporter there I think I'd like to work with. Specifically."

"Really?"

He nodded. "With a formidable reputation. Fearless. Honest. Award-winning, mostly."

Her eyes creased at the sides in understanding, "Anyone would want to work alongside someone like that."

"I hear nothing but good things."

"They're all true."

"I really think it could be something special."

"I'm going to have to agree with that."

Clark paused. "I believe his name's Jimmy."

She sniggered out loud, and she was still giggling into his kisses as he pulled her to him and she climbed on top of his lap.

...

Without being a big airport, or busy, during the summer season Smallville municipal ran reliable and regular commercial services out to a roster of major cities. On an otherwise deserted row of plastic seats, they sat together, waiting, watching other people hug and make their goodbyes. Lois had her head tucked comfortably underneath Clark's cheek. Her flight had already been called once.

"I guess you better go," Clark spoke into her hair without making any kind of move to actually let her go.

"Yeah," she agreed, showing no obvious willingness to move either. "Clark?"

"Mm?"

She was playing with the edges of his suit jacket. "This happened, right? I'm not going to wake up tomorrow and the weekend was all a crazy dream?"

"Like clicking your heels and finding out you're not in Kansas, anymore?"

She laughed. "Mm."

He smiled against her forehead. "Would you like me to pinch you?"

Decisively, on a nod, she said, "No."

"I can still change my ticket. Catch the next flight if I have to." He was stroking her hair down her back, "We can wake up tomorrow together if you like?"

Her eyelids flickered. "Don't tempt me."

"I mean it. I can layover in Metropolis. Make my connection from there instead. I'd just be a day late."

Lois sighed, stoically. "I'd never get out of bed. And you'd never get back to Afghanistan. And before we met we were both respected, and admired, dedicated professionals."

Beneath her, she heard him sigh. "What?"

"Nothing," he began. His tone was longing, and a little forlorn, "Just. Mentioning beds. I was thinking how nice it would be to have sex with you on a mattress."

She chuckled, rubbed her nose into his dress shirt.

"Sheets and pillows."

She agreed with him it would be nice. Clark let his head roll back and looked up to the ceiling. "This is going to be a long five months."

Her hand rubbed along the top of his thigh. "I'll striptease for you on webcam and things." She patted him on his knee, "It'll be fine."

He closed his eyes and groaned.

The last call for her flight was announced over the PA system.

"I gotta go." Lois stood and shouldered her purse. Clark got up with her.

"This is, like, the fourth time I've had to say goodbye to you in the last forty-eight hours. I don't like it very much."

She smiled up at him, slipped her hands into his and interlinked their fingers.

The slope of his shoulders moved up and down. "Please be careful."

She bounced their hands; "We have a deal."

His eyes snagged on the fresh band-aid just visible behind her fringe. "The part that worries me is that I think my side of it is going to be easier to keep up."

She grimaced, considering it. "That's probably true."

"There are land mines and check points where I live."

"I will be extra, super, careful," she promised with great solemnity. She squeezed his hands before letting them go. "And I'll be waiting for you. And I'd like you back in one piece."

The moment presented itself to say something more but they both held back in a kind of observed acknowledgment that some things could wait and it was helpful to the other to not make the parting any more bittersweet than it already was. So instead they kissed.

Clark leaned his forehead against hers. "This is going to be so hard."

Despite the heaviness of her heart, Lois grinned in triumph- "I told you you were a moper!"

Without pretense or hesitation, Clark said, "I'd mope over you."

"Don't mope," she told him. "Just take care of yourself. I'll see you before you know it."

They kissed for a last time before Lois rallied herself and bent to find the handle of her travel case. Clark stuck his hands in his pockets. "Call me as soon as you're home."

"You'll still be in the air?"

"Leave me the message. I'll call you from Gotham International."

He watched her walk away from him.

"Hey. Look after that sweater."

She half-turned back to call, "I'm going to keep it warm for you."

Clark blew out a short breath. To himself, he muttered, "It's going to be a long five months."


End file.
